


Sorting Through Gravel

by keelywolfe



Category: Journey into Mystery, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Implied Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It wasn't as though Loki didn't have a reason to be here. </i><br/> </p>
<p>Loki's current life is a tumult of loose ends, wicked promises made for good reasons, and blackmail. But none of that matters, not today. Today he is sorting rocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for all current issues of Journey Into Mystery, but especially for #641.

* * *

It wasn't as though Loki didn't have a reason to be here. 

After Leah…after he'd come home to Asgard from the situation with the Otherworld gods, after he'd spoken to the All-mother, faced their anger. After everything, he'd come back down here to this dirty great hole in the ground, as Leah had always called it. 

Come back to tie up loose ends. 

He had cleared out her meager possessions; books, a collection of cooking tools and various potteries that he hadn't given her and had wondered, vaguely, in the past where she had collected them from. A few ratty blankets, as threadbare and worn as the ones Loki used and those he took back to his room, though he rarely felt chilled and didn't need them. 

That he'd taken care of the very first day. Asgardians weren't all what Loki would call the most brilliant of folk but even they might get suspicious if they stumbled across a dirty great hole in the ground filled with someone's abandoned belongings. Better to clear it away and be done with it. So he'd had a reason to be here, then. 

Less so now with days passed and yet, Loki still returned, Thori trotting reluctantly at his heels, and though he continued his hopeful mutterings about dismemberment and his doggish urge to urinate on anything held dear by others, Thori hadn't asked about Leah. Whether that was because he already knew somehow or he didn't care, Loki didn't ask. 

Ikol kept his own council on the matter of Loki's return to the cave. 

There was very little left here now. The small pit where Leah had built her cooking fire remained, hardly an item of great suspicion. Rocks and gravel were still piled where Leah had cleared the ground and it was next to one of these heaps that Loki found himself today, sifting through stones and searching for…he wasn't sure. 

It was almost meditative, combing through the small rocks, shifting them from one pile into another. A useless, meaningless task; Loki had no small appreciation for that. His tasks of the past few months had held enough meaning to last him some time. 

He'd taken his gloves off at some point, feeling around with his bare fingers, and he didn't question his own fierce desire to collect up every shred of her from this place, every fragment of her existence. 

Didn't name the dull ache in his chest, did nothing but focus on his task. Loose ends, he had more than enough of those dangling over his head, each one with a blade tied to it, waiting for someone to cut it and bring wrath down upon him. There was little he could do about most of them, not until he'd kept promises made. Hela's binding on him, at least, he could finally cross off his list, one daggered rope cut, even if he had no pleasure in doing it –no.

No, he was not thinking on that today. Today he was only sorting rocks. Tying up loose ends, that was all, and never mind Thor's concerned looks over Loki's silences at the feast table, never mind that he still owed favors to wicked creatures and that the All-Mother's still held him through blackmail. Never mind everything, all of it.

Today Loki was sorting rocks. 

His fingers skirted over something smooth and metal and Loki curled a hand around it automatically, lifting it up and squinting through the scant light that came in through the cave entrance. At first he didn't recognize it, having never used such a thing himself and then he realized. 

A barrette, small and plain, lost, perhaps, replaced and forgotten about until Loki had stumbled across it. Resting in the palm of his hand, a muted gleam of metal and helpless grief washed over him again, a single wave in the ocean of discontent that currently surrounded him. Twinned with grief came a stinging rush of tears that Loki swallowed away thickly. 

No, no, not today. 

None would call Loki a typical teenager, not even taking into consideration his rebirth. He understood grief, had already lost more in his brief life than most lost in a lifetime. This would pass; the edges would soften, cutting less with the passage of time. It was just that time passed so slowly and he was running out of rocks. 

Loki breathed, deliberately, willing the rush of emotion away and so focused was he on it that he only noticed the scrape of boots on the stony ground when they stepped into his line of vision. 

Skittering away from them was pure reflex, borne of past, occasionally painful, experience. It wasn't precisely safe to be Loki in Asgardia, Thor's protection or not, and Loki was already crouched, ready to flee, when he finally saw who it was. 

"Daimon?" Loki asked, warily, squinting. He was still on the edge of running, his curiosity the only thing holding him there. Curiosity killed cats and occasionally it killed Lokis, but he didn't think that was in his cards for this moment.

"Yeah, it's me. And don't ask, mutt, I'm not taking you with me," Daimon added, ignoring Thori's disgruntled mutters as the pup wandered back into the cave, flopping down unhappily in the shadows. 

The sharp burst of adrenaline faded and Loki sank back down, sitting with his back against the cave wall. Another loose end wandering in, he thought, wearily, and wasn't that just what he needed.

"Why are you here?" Loki asked, softly. He heard the dullness in his own voice and couldn't be bothered to care. He was exposing too much, true, revealing his weakness to a source that was hardly more trustworthy than he himself and Loki did. Not. Care. 

It wasn't like Daimon could do much with the information, anyway. 

To his surprise, Daimon only dropped down to sit next to him, stretching his long legs out with a grunt. "Thought I'd stop by."

"If it's about your payment, Wilson said he would handle it. If he hasn't, you'll have to speak with him--" Loki said, his emotions were grating raw within him and he could not deal with this on top of everything, he could not—

"Heard about your friend," Daimon interrupted with a gentleness Loki wouldn't have thought him capable of. The man sat with his legs drawn up, hands dangling between his knees and Loki shifted to mimic the pose. The barrette was still in his hand and Loki tucked it quickly away, unseen, before drawing his gloves back on. He already felt exposed enough, felt the urge to cover his vulnerabilities, even the tiniest one of bare hands. 

"How did you hear?" A stupid question, certainly, what did even matter how or when? Demons in all the Hells surely whispered and some of those words could have easily drifted Daimon's way. Daimon didn't comment on the idiocy, only shrugged, his leather coat creaking with the motion.

"I hear things. Around." His eyes over his sunglasses were red, the faint glow of hellfire that he carried within him ever visible, a banked inferno, but the low rasp of his voice was still gentle. "I'm sorry. I liked her."

"She was a monster, really," Loki bit out. "Abusive, aggressive, insulting. Just like one of the family. She set me on fire once and," Loki's voice cracked and he swallowed, hard. "She was amazing."

"Yeah, she was," Daimon said agreeably. The dirty great hole in the ground was getting darker, the sunlight creeping in from the entrance was dimming and Loki drew his knees further up, wrapping his arms around his legs and rested his chin on them.

"Is this the part where we spout out our memories and sob pathetically, because to be honest, I'd rather not," Loki said tiredly. The grief was still too fresh, still lapping at his ankles, and Loki wasn’t fooled into thinking it would fade quickly. It would fade, though, the tide would recede eventually, but even that knowledge only made it ache anew. 

Daimon's mouth twisted into a smile. "Nah, I'm not very good at this shit either and I don't have any memories of her that you weren't around to see so we should probably go for option two."

And Loki was about to ask, but Daimon had already slid a finger under his chin, tipping his head up and Loki could only stare at him with wide, shocked eyes as he leaned in and pressed their lips together. 

Soft, his mouth was very soft, and his lips were burning hot, a startling contrast against Loki's. Son of a devil, Loki thought, wildly, kissing the son of a frost giant; honestly, it was a wonder Loki didn't simply melt like a physical manifestation of rock, paper, scissors, fire melts ice and that was a tongue against the seam of his lips, teasing him. 

Inviting him. 

Parting his lips was less a conscious act than it was curiosity, his very first kiss and it was from a near stranger on the ground in a great dirty cave. Daimon's tongue was slick, moving against Loki's with that same strange gentleness. Coaxing his own to match the movement and Loki did, clumsily at first, pressing his tongue into Daimon's mouth. It felt strange. Good. Strange and _hot_ , like tasting fire, the edge of his teeth sharp as Daimon nipped the tip of his tongue lightly, teasingly. 

A large hand slipped from his chin to cup his cheek, drifting up to dislodge Loki's headpiece and sending it clattering heedlessly to the ground. Daimon seemed more interested in sliding back Loki's hood, tangling his fingers into his newly exposed hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. 

Loki made a soft sound, tilting his head up into that touch and perhaps Daimon took that as him asking silently for something else, something more because suddenly the ground was hard against Loki's back. Daimon was heavy over him, propped up on an elbow as he dipped his head to take Loki's mouth yet again. 

"Wait!" Loki yelped, thin and high, his panic threaded into the way his hands scrabbled over Daimon's chest. Silently he cursed the man's costume of choice, who in all the Hells never wore a shirt?

"Wait?" Daimon repeated, one eyebrow raised and Loki wondered when he'd taken off the sunglasses. His eyes were vivid in the near dark, blazing, and Loki was abruptly put very rudely into his place; he was alone, in a dirty great hole in the ground, with the son of a devil snugly between his legs and no one to defend him anymore but Ikol and Thori. And the hellhound would be more likely to ask if Daimon would prefer Loki on his back or on his knees. 

"I…well…it's not that I don't appreciate the offer--" Loki wet his lips, his wildly scattered thoughts struggling to collect themselves enough for him to live up to his namesake of silver-tongue, and where were his great skills of manipulation when he needed them?

Daimon only offered another smirk, baring a glimpse of white teeth. No, _fangs_. "Sorry, kid, didn't mean to scare you. Didn't know you were an innocent."

"I wouldn't go that far," Loki said, stung. He'd been called many things since his return to Asgard but that certainly wasn't amongst them. 

"I would. Kid, you're as pure as fresh snow, you think I can't _taste_ it?"

"I was reborn! Did you think my first act after finding myself alive was to gape my thighs for the first…did you say you can taste it?" Loki frowned at him. "What does innocence taste like?"

Daimon snorted aloud, "You don't taste like innocence. You taste like a virgin."

"That didn't answer my question," Loki pointed out.

His grin widened, bordering on wicked, "Sweet," he husked out, close enough that his breath gusted over Loki's face, tainted with a hint of brimstone. 

"So you like the taste of virgins?" Loki asked, felt the warmth of a blush heating his face and he resented his own jitteriness, feeling stupid and…and uncertain, but it was better than—it was better. 

"All demons do, but that's not the only thing and you know it. It would take a much better man than me to turn down a chance with a virgin Loki." Loki frowned up at him, not quite sure if he should take insult to that or not, and gained another sharp grin, a predatory glimpse of fangs, "And I'm not a very good man on my best days."

"I…I'm not—" Stupid, still just _stupid_ , stumbling over his own foolish tongue. He did want, suddenly. He'd have to be insane not to want, Daimon was devastatingly attractive and Loki was not immune. Daimon was heavy against him, pressed firm between his legs, a distraction, Loki was very familiar with distractions. It made it difficult for him to think, did he even want to think? A distraction, yes, Loki _craved_ a distraction. But--

Even as Loki wavered in indecision, Daimon leaned in a bit, not quite kissing; only whispered against Loki's mouth, "Not up to getting on your knees? How about something a little less pricey, just a little touchy-feely, maybe?"

Loki closed his eyes, whispering gratefully, "Yes."

Hot lips brushed against his own again, a teasing offer and Loki hissed irritably, lifting his head to firmly press their mouths together. If he was going to indulge in a bit of lunacy, then he wasn’t about to lie here in timid acceptance. Daimon murmured appreciatively, tracing Loki's lips with his tongue before delving into his mouth again, a wickedly slippery meeting of lips and tongue. 

They surged together, sharing biting kisses and Loki couldn't stifle a gasp as Daimon caught his chin and tipped his head firmly to the side, catching the soft lobe of his ear in his teeth and biting. Loki yelped, fisting his hands frantically in Daimon's hair but the demon-born was already soothing the tiny hurt, sucking wetly, tantalizingly. 

Despite his determination to be Daimon's equal in this, Loki could only lie, gasping, as Daimon sucked bruises into the soft skin beneath his ear, lower, roughly tugging aside his collar and biting each pale inch of skin as it was exposed.  


"Here," Daimon shifted back to his knees, yanking Loki up and stripping off his overtunic and Loki could only let him. Cool air caressed him as much as hot hands as Daimon slid them beneath his undershirt, pushing Loki back down, pressing the length of their bodies together and Loki shuddered, a pleading sound escaping him as heat roiled over him. So hot, Daimon was, like cupping a flame in his palm, and he was pushing their hips together and Loki could _feel_ him. The firm line of his erection was snugged against Loki's, his own thin leggings hardly a barrier and even as he arched up Daimon pushed an arm under him, a large hand in the small of his back urging him to rock his hips. 

"That's it," Daimon panted against his mouth, hot gusts of breath. "That's it, you're a natural, fuck, that's—" He broke off on a groan, pressing his damp forehead against Loki's. Triumph surged through Loki, as sweet as the pleasure and he sought Daimon's mouth with his own, a wet, searing press of lips. 

Daimon tore away from the kiss with a growl, eyes blazing, and Loki fell back against the ground, panting for breath before he realized Daimon was tugging on his leggings, sliding them down his thighs. Loki grabbed at the waistband, halting the descent before he was bared. "You said—"

"I know what I said," Daimon closed his eyes, shuttering the burning glow as he took a long breath, let it out, "And I meant it. Hands only." Said hands covered Loki's, stroking his fingertips over his wrists, his white-knuckled grip, coaxing him to relax. "C'mon, you don't want to mess up your clothes, do you?"

"That sounds like something I would say," Loki grumbled, warily, but his caution was burning away alongside the scorching throb of his own want. He let Daimon slide the leggings down, his breathing seemed too loud and fast to his own ears as Daimon lingered at his knees, his fingertips dipping into the sensitive hollows beneath. Lower, tugging his boots off and tossing them aside, and large, hot hands were on Loki's bare feet, stroking a path up his ankles, nails scraping lightly over the silky skin of insides of his thighs. 

His cock was heavy between his legs, curving up over his belly and Daimon cupped him unhesitatingly, curling his hand around the shaft. The sound Loki made might have been humiliating had he any sense left to care and he made it again when Daimon slid his thumb over the head, slicking through the bead of fluid pooling there, evidence of Loki's eagerness. 

"Virgin," Daimon murmured, breathily, something like reverence in his voice and was that such a treat to a half-devil? There was power in virginity, Loki knew that, but it was nothing that could be stolen, nothing that could be used, and—

"Oh!" Loki groaned, his thoughts utterly derailed by the stroking rhythm of Daimon's hand, callused palm rough against him as he stroked. One knee nudged against Loki's thigh, urging him to spread them further and he did it unthinkingly, drawing his legs up so that his bare feet were against the ground. Leverage, he thought dimly, pushing up into Daimon's sure grip and it wasn't until he felt the scrape of fabric against his inner thighs that awareness hit. 

Loki's eyes flew open, staring up wildly at where Daimon was kneeling between his legs. He had promised and Loki had foolishly trusted and—and--

"It's all right, relax. Just hands, remember?" Daimon crooned. He was keeping to his word, one finger sliding between the cheeks of Loki's bottom, pressing lightly against the tiny pucker hidden there. Circling it dryly, that tiny pressure blazed through him and Loki choked at the sensation, felt the hard inner throb too abruptly for warning and then his pleasure spilled over, spurting in a wet rush over Daimon's stroking hand and his own belly. 

Loki fell back against the ground, gasping, quivering with the unexpected rush of it and if Daimon pushed his knees wide, decided to press the advantage and take him, Loki wasn't sure he'd protest. He might spread his legs wider, hook his ankles behind Daimon's knees and pull him in until they were both shaking and gasping, every bit of his virginity left in tatters. 

Instead, Daimon hooked an arm around his waist, pulled and grappled his limp body until he was straddling Daimon's legs, settled into his lap. Cool air struck his hand as Daimon peeled away his glove in one smooth tug, twining their fingers and drawing Loki's hand down between them. 

"C'mon, kid," he breathed damply into Loki's ear and his breath was heavy, scented with ash. 

"Yes, all right," Loki said, a bit stupidly, maybe, but Daimon was pushing his hand past the waist of his leather pants and the heat of his cock felt like it was scalding his bare skin. Mashed Loki's hand against it, pinned by his own strong fingers, and pushed up with his hips. The hot, wet slide of firm flesh against Loki's palm was equal parts familiar and exotic, someone else's cock in his grasp and he managed to curl his fingers around it, tried to match the frantic rhythm Daimon was forcing his hand into. 

The sudden splash of scalding wetness made Loki yelp, the sound mingling with Daimon's groan and he shivered, his breath hot against Loki's temple, stirring the fine hair there. 

Long moments passed as his breathing evened out and Loki withdrew his hand from Daimon's grasp uncertainly, grimacing at the wetness in his palm. A soft chuckle was followed by a gentle kiss on the top of his head and Daimon pushed him gently back. 

"Here," Daimon offered him a handkerchief and Loki accepted it with a silent nod. Well, this was passing awkward, now, wasn't it. None of Ikol's advice had ever explained how one should act after a bit of mutual masturbation. 

Daimon at least seemed to have an idea, slid one large hand into Loki's hair and tipped his head up for another gentle kiss, his tongue tender against Loki's faintly sore mouth. He pulled back, nipping softly at Loki's lower lip as he murmured, "Pretty virgin."

"Not quite so much," Loki protested, weakly, even now he felt a faint stirring in the lowest part of his belly, a curious sort of eager burn. 

Raspy laughter, and another kiss, this one hard, mashing Loki's lips against his teeth in an oddly pleasant fashion before Daimon pushed him upright onto his unsteady feet. "Yeah, you are, but we'll have to take care of that some other time. I need to get going."

Right. Loki gave his hopeful hormones a stern order to back down, snatching up his leggings and skinning back into them quickly as Daimon straightened his own clothes. In a moment he looked as intimidating as ever, not one inch of him revealing what they had done. Loki pressed gloved fingertips against his mouth; his lips felt tender, his body felt loose-limbed, disjointed and damp beneath his clothing. He only dared hope he didn't look completely obvious; the walk back to his tower was not a short one and it was too early to think any in Asgardia were already abed. 

Nothing but dusky night poured in from the cave entrance and Loki followed Daimon towards it, stepping out into the clean air and inhaling deeply. Only to squeak in surprise as Daimon caught his arm and yanked him close, threading a hand yet again into Loki's hair as he caught his mouth in another kiss. It was easier now, hesitance and ignorance melted into limited knowledge and Loki bit Daimon's lower lip on the edge of too hard, relished his wince and curse. Then there was nothing but the slick sound of their tongues moving against each other, the deep breath Daimon took as he finally pulled away, setting Loki firmly away from him. 

"See you around, kid," Daimon pushed his sunglasses back on, cutting off the hellfire glow of his eyes. 

"Perhaps," Loki said, noncommittal. Maybe it would be better not to seem too eager. 

The knowing grin Daimon offered told him he wasn't entirely successful and Loki gave him a little shrug, hey, mostly virgin, here, and watched as Daimon vanished in a rushing blaze.

The scent of brimstone faded quickly in the easy night breeze and Loki took in a long draught of clean air, closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the cool evening for a moment. Grief was still sharp, an aching shard of loss buried still in his chest but option two, as Daimon had called it, had dulled the edge of it, encasing it in a sheath of weariness. 

Sleep would help, Loki decided and he turned back towards Asgard, ready to make the long trek to his tower and halted before he could take a step, eyes wide on the figure looming above him on an outcropping of stone. 

Thor.

"Brother?" Loki said, cautiously, his heart thudding wildly. How long had he been there, what had he seen--

"Heimdall said I might find you here," Thor said flatly, a sure sign that he had seen more than enough. He leapt from his perch, landing lightly in front of Loki and when he straightened, Loki forced himself to meet his eyes, did not wince at the coolness that greeted him. "He said you often trek around this area, though he knew not why."

"I…" Loki wet his lips, sifting through ideas, lies, what could he _say_?

"Had I realized you were slipping out to meet a lover, I might have sought you out sooner," Thor ignored his weak protest, "Had I known you were rutting with demons within sight of our very city, I think I might have had words to share with you."

"It's not like that!" Loki hissed, furiously, cringing from the cold censure in Thor's glare. "We were just…it was more like…like a favor." His memories were brief and short in comparison to the information that Ikol wielded but surely he'd never been so ineloquent in any of his lifetimes. This week had been the purest of miseries and Loki was horrified to feel tears prickling once again in his eyes. Disapproval, he would have expected, disappointment, surely, but he could nearly _feel_ the anger pouring off his brother in the same fashion Daimon put off heat, could see it in the tenseness of his shoulders, the way his hand shifted, tightening on Mjölnir. 

"A favor?" Thor demanded. "Seeking favors, indeed. I didn't return you from the dead so that you might whore yourself to demons."

It was so unfair that Loki found himself speechless; the past hour's comfort spoiling, curdled like milk left to sit in the sun and those horrible, unwanted tears spilled, hot streaks sliding down his cheeks. He scrubbed them away furiously with the back of his hand, uselessly, more simply followed and he couldn't do this right now. He couldn't.

Loki flinched away from his brother's hand reaching out to him, turned from him and ran, ignoring the shout of his name. He ran until his lungs burned and a pain bit into his side, let his feet carry him into the darkest corner of Asgard and there he hid. Curled into himself, burying his wet face into his knees, utterly alone, without so much as a dog or bird to break the silence.

A long moment passed, two, and when Loki raised his head again his cheeks were dry, his reddened eyes the only remaining trace. He didn't move the rest of the night, only slumping a little as he drifted to sleep and he dreamed of the cave, Leah's great dirty hole in the ground, and in his dream he was sorting through rocks, searching for he knew not what.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolateisforever made two lovely pieces of art for this chapter and it is wonderful!
> 
>  
> 
> [Daimon and Loki](http://www.y-gallery.net/view/896889/)  
> [Kissing](http://www.y-gallery.net/view/901153/)


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The deepest, darkest corners of Asgard were never touched by sunlight and so were always dark and damp and smelling faintly musty. Even Loki, half-giant and notoriously comfortable in chilly weather, felt the icy bite of it through the barrier of his clothing when he woke. 

He was still curled up in his corner, his head pillowed on the dubious comfort of his drawn-up knees and every joint in his body took a moment to register their profound dislike of sleeping in places that weren't meant to be slept in. Loki blinked into the dimness, squinting, still muzzy and feeling sore and ill-used. Why in all the Nine was he here and not—

Ah. Yes, there was that.

Loki let out a sigh, rubbing both hands over his face and wincing at the soreness of his eyes. Weakened with grief, he'd had a moment of indiscretion with Daimon and Thor had seen and called him a whore. All in all, not his best evening. 

Loki heaved a sigh. If he knew his brother at all, Loki suspected Thor would ambush him somewhere and either offer profound apologies or once again bluster out insults and anger. And Loki, being Loki and somewhat of a fool where his brother was concerned, was going to forgive him either way. Because it was Thor and he loved his brother. 

At least that much he did not have to question, Loki thought ruefully. The only memories he had of Thor were of his brother loving him and if there was hate in their past, and there was, Loki knew there was, it was not in the memories he had been reborn with. 

It was strange, he supposed, would be strange to many if they realized how little he knew about his past life. What memories he did have were cobwebbed and slightly jumbled, as though thrown together with careless hands. He remembered Odin as a father, Thor as his brother. He remembered people and places, yet his memories of self were muted and distant, as though kept from him and perhaps it was so. He didn't like to admit it, but there were times that Loki depended on Ikol simply because he couldn't remember what it was that others assumed that he knew. The ghost of his previous incarnation filled in the holes and provided Loki with a muddied picture of his past but still, that was not the same as remembering. 

It seemed to him that other Asgardians did not realize this or simply did not believe it. Either was possible. 

All looked at him and saw not him, only his shadow. Even Leah had….even Daimon had mentioned finding a virgin Loki irresistible but who was Loki? Only he. 

Everyone looked and saw another, everyone but Thor. Loki swallowed hard and lifted his chin, stood and stretched and started the long trek up to his tower. Thor had only called him a whore and Loki knew that once not long ago he had earned worse names. Now perhaps it was time to act like Loki, brother of Thor, and see if he had apologies or anger waiting for him. 

Or he could get a bit more sleep first. Yes, he could always do that. 

* * *

The tower that Loki had claimed for his own hadn't been chosen for its convenience. For its location, certainly, with most of Asgardia laid out before him, everything visible from all directions. No stairs led to it, nor doorways, only the length of rope he'd secured that could be pulled up behind him when he chose. To some it might appear that he was paranoid and to that Loki would say, in the Midgardian way; duh. Paranoid, yes, but also practical; he did need to sleep from time to time and he preferred to do it without fearing a knife blade being jammed somewhere awkward. 

The tower was perfect for that use. Not quite as much for stumbling back to after a night spent in the dungeons, his clothing rumpled and his hood dragged untidily over the mess of his hair. There was at least one benefit to being Loki in a suspicious Asgard. Any glances he received for his appearance were slanting at best. Mostly people looked at him just to verify he hadn't suddenly turned evil or sprouted horns or started to eat children, what have you. If he looked somewhat rougher than normal, few would question it. Few but Thor and if his brother was searching for him, he was choosing different hallways to skulk through. 

Loki kept a watch out for any glimpse of a red cape or the distinctive curve of Thor's helm regardless. He'd like a more restful sleep if Thor was going to choose to apologize and if he was still angry…well…a little more sleep wouldn't hurt for that either. 

He heard the faint flutter of wings before Ikol's light weight settled on his shoulder, his claws digging in lightly. 

"Don't say anything," Loki muttered, quickly, before the bird could offer his no doubt scathing opinion of the entire situation. Yes, Loki shouldn't be venturing back into the cave, it was sure to draw suspicion, yes, Loki should have pushed Daimon aside with a firm no, not that he should have even had such a dilemma, had he chosen to stay away from the cave. Yes, yes, he certainly shouldn't have let Thor see him…do anything, not that he had done anything of the sort that Thor had accused him of, thank you very much. A little, what had Daimon called it? A little touch-feely, that was it, was hardly whoring himself to demons. 

And anyway, Daimon was a good guy. Mostly. At least as much as Loki was. 

Which was perhaps a sentiment he should keep to himself, Loki decided ruefully, nimbly climbing the rope up to his tower as Ikol flew up ahead of him. It was going to be fine, it was, Loki would get a little more rest and then he'd find a way to fix this matter with Thor…

…who was sitting on the floor in Loki's room, surrounded by the chaos of strewn books and rolls of parchments and seeming absurdly too large in his armor and helm for such a little room.

"Ah," Loki pursed his lips and gave Ikol a glare for not warning him. He was greeted with birdish blinking and a deeper gaze that said wordlessly, _and did you not order me to be silent?_

He had, by Hel, and naturally Ikol would take a perverse enjoyment in obeying him. Honestly, even aside from the whole death and destruction thing, Loki could see why people hated his former self so much.

"Good morning," Loki said, belatedly, and he blinked to realize Thori was at his brother's feet, chewing ferociously at the hem of his cape. Impressively, he'd managed to worry a tear into the magically-enhanced fabric 

"I returned your dog to you," Thor frowned down at the pup who was his namesake, leaning away from the small shower of sparks that Thori snarled at him. "I don't believe he likes me."

"Join the club," Loki said, tiredly, saw Thor's brow furrow as he tried to parse that. He sighed and flapped an uncaring hand. "It's a Midgardian saying. It doesn't matter."

He flopped down on the floor, close enough for them to speak without shouting across the room but far enough away to make his escape should Thor choose to make his confrontation of the more physical, bruise-worthy style. Not that he believed Thor would truly hurt him, not really, but Loki was feeling more than bruised enough as of late, outwardly and within. 

Instead of speaking, Thor let the ball of conversation drop between them listlessly and only sat there, idly fingering Mjölnir's handle as he looked at Loki with an unnerving steadiness uncommon to him. To have it directed at him made Loki squirm, tracing runes on the dusty floor with a gloved fingertip until finally he could stand it no longer. 

"That's it? That's all you're going to say to me?" Loki, burst out, scowled at Thor. His brother met his gaze, did not so much drop his eyes in shame. "You spied on me and called me a whore, and now you aren't going to offer me so much as a by your leave?"

"I cannot apologize to you for that," Thor said simply and before Loki could have his own tantrum of anger and insults, the indignation of it all swelling within him, he added, "There is no apology that would suffice. I might say the words to you but nothing would soothe the pain I caused. Nothing would erase it from your mind or your heart. And so I came here; I brought your pet and waited through the night for your return. To beg for your forgiveness with words would be folly and so my actions shall speak for me."

Loki stared at his brother dumbly and only realized he was gaping like an open-mouthed fool when Thor leaned forward and tapped his chin with a single finger, closing his mouth. He didn't even flinch as Thor remained kneeling next to him, his large form looming over Loki's smaller one. 

"When did you become so clever with words?" Loki asked finally. The Thor of his memories was never so; beloved, certainly, a great warrior always, but his speeches Loki always thought of with the fond indulgence of one who loved his brother despite his flaws. He supposed Thor thought of him in much the same manner. 

Thor gave him an oddly casual shrug and Loki wondered, somewhat bemused, if he'd picked that habit up from the humans he so loved to spend his time with. Perhaps it was they who'd taught him some eloquence as well. 

"Very well. Let your actions speak," Loki said, warily, and his squawk of surprise when Thor grabbed him would have been better suited to Ikol. 

He didn't struggled, allowed Thor to manhandle him into his lap and when his brother seemed to be satisfied with his position, he wrapped his large arms around Loki and simply held him. 

Slowly, Loki relaxed, allowed himself to feel Thor's warmth, the bulge of muscle flexing beneath his head as Thor tightened his grip, hugging Loki against him with all his fierce strength. His armor was not particularly comfortable to rest against and Mjölnir was digging somewhat fiercely into Loki's knee and he did not care at all, only held on as tightly as he was allowed. 

"I am sorry," Thor murmured against the top of his head. "I was…surprised. That does not excuse my actions, nor should it, but I had not expected to see you thus."

"With a devil?" Loki asked and hated how small his voice was. He cleared his throat, a bit, and added, "He's sort of a good devil. Half-devil. He's working as an exorcist and I helped him, a little….that doesn't matter. At the very least, you can't blame him for his bloodline. I do have some perspective in that sort of problem."

"Indeed," Thor said, heavily. His chin dug into the top of Loki's head as he spoke. "But no, I did not expect to see you as such with anyone. You were…you were considerably older before you indulged in your previous life."

Loki frowned, trying to pull back. "Older?"

"Considerably." 

That made Loki blink a little, in surprise. He'd had the idea that in his previous life Loki hadn't been severely disliked until he'd been much older and, well, a villain. Had there been none even then that would have been willing to lie with him? How terribly depressing that thought was; even when he hadn't been evil, all of Asgard had avoided him. 

"I suppose I can see how it would be disconcerting to see your brother go from a hundred year virgin to a slut between lifetimes," Loki said, unhappily and then all his breath was squeezed out in a wheeze as Thor tightened his hold. 

"No, you—" Thor bit off his words and took a slow breath and Loki could tell he was at least trying to consider his words. "I said not so and I did not mean what I said yestereve. You are neither a whore nor a slut and I'd prefer if you did not refer to yourself as such." 

Thor's hand was large enough to spread over Loki's back and he rubbed between the shoulder blades with marked firmness, as though he could force soothing into Loki. "You…he was heavily invested in his studies and little interested in the pleasures of the flesh over those of books. But that was a long ago past, little brother, and it was wrong of me to expect you to be so as well. 

Loki hummed, softly, considering that. "People always look at me and expect to see Loki. I suspect they are disappointed when they only find me in his place." Or perhaps they were relieved though oddly, that notion did not soothe Loki either. 

"It is strange to me as well, to see you as you are, not as you were," Thor confessed softly. "You are always you, you are Loki, and yet, you are also not you. Not him. You," Thor tapped Loki's nose lightly. "Are something else entirely."

Loki stared at the tip of his nose where Thor's finger still rested, his eyes crossing. "That is a good thing, I am sure."

"It is."

That fingertip petted his nose lightly, as though it were a small pet, before Thor's hand drifted lower, touching Loki's mouth. Loki furrowed his brow as Thor traced it, ran his thumb over the curve of his lower lip. His eyes were lowered, watching the movement of his thumb over Loki's mouth as though mesmerized, dragging lightly back and forth over the soft skin.

It was like the click of a lock in the back of his head, like the pieces of a grand scheme falling together in the perfect order, and suddenly Loki understood his brother's anger of the night before. Everything was illuminated in brilliant, crystal clarity and Loki looked into the blue of Thor's eyes and he knew. 

Oh. 

"Oh," Loki said, simply, and he leaned up to press their mouths together. For one brief, lovely moment, Thor returned it, surged against him with fierceness. The scruff of his beard was rough against Loki's bare face, a thrilling change from Daimon, and the pressure of his closed mouth was bruising and brilliant and perfect, and Loki wanted nothing more than for Thor to push him back against the cold stones of the floor, to bite sweet kisses against Loki's mouth and throat, slide the large hands that were holding Loki against him beneath his tunic and--

"No," Thor broke away from him, his strong hands hard on Loki's shoulders as he forced him back. His mouth was the first thing Loki saw, damp and reddened, and Loki was already leaning back towards it with a needy whimper, trying to take it again with his own before Thor's single word registered through his clouded mind. 

No. _No._

Loki's thundering heart sank and the ache he'd felt the night before paled in comparison to this. Thor didn't want him, not like that, and now he'd gone and ruined what affection they did have. Now Thor would be wary of hugging him, holding him, afraid of giving Loki hope where there was none, and Loki would not even have the comfort of his brother's arms. His own breath seemed to be strangling him, choking in his throat and Loki struggled without thinking, trying to free himself from Thor's grip and his brother only tightened his hold, refusing to let go no matter how Loki squirmed. 

When he finally realized that all his struggles were granting him were bruises, Loki subsided, sullenly, ducking his head low to avoid Thor's eyes. His own eyes were at least dry; no humiliating tears threatened to spill and make the awfulness of all this even worse. Loki curled into himself within the circle of Thor's arms, clasped his hands in front of his face and chewed on his thumb as he waited for more anger or perhaps worse, perhaps Thor would let him down gently.

Wonderful.

Long moment passed before Thor's grip loosened, warily, ready to tighten again if Loki tried to escape. He didn't; Loki decided it simply wasn't worth the further bruises he was bound to receive. He didn't move when Thor's large hand settled on his head, the light weight of his headpiece lifted away and Loki heard it clatter softly to the floor before Thor drew back his hood, his fingers sifting lightly through the spill of his hair as it fell free. 

There was only silence, only the whisper-soft sound of Thor gently petting his hair, and yet, Loki's ears were filled with the thunder of his own heartbeat, rabbiting painfully in his chest. 

"Calm yourself, little brother," Thor said, softly, still gently stroking his hair, "I would not be angry with you for that. Never for that."

Loki said nothing, though he leaned, slightly, back into his brother's arms. Thor sighed, heavily, his large hand gentle as he drew it down from Loki's hair to the middle of his back, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. 

"I'm sorry," Loki said, stiffly. "I thought…it doesn't matter what I thought, I was wrong, and you needn't--

"We were lovers, once, long, long ago, the other Loki and I," Thor interrupted, his voice rich even hushed as it was and Loki blinked up at him in surprise. Thor frowned, adding doubtfully. "You knew this?" 

Loki shook his head, admitting, "I don't know very much about what he did. I know how he died. I think it perhaps best if I know as little as possible about how he lived."

"Truly spoken," Thor said, wry. "Aye, we were lovers, long ago. But Loki, I did not return you to life for this."

"No?" He squirmed back enough to glare up at Thor. If his hurt at last night's argument was still fresh, then his hurt from this refusal still bled. "Then why did you? You seemed eager to throw into my face that I was dead and gone, unloved by all but you, so why did you bring me back, then?"

Only silence and Loki did not duck away when Thor lowered his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Loki's forehead, breathing out yet another sigh.

"For selfish reasons," Thor said finally. "But not for that reason. Because I missed you, because for all your past wickedness, my life seemed vacant without you, an empty goblet that your mere presence fills to overflowing." He was still petting Loki, long, soothing strokes of the sort that Thori never allowed. "I wish to have you near me, Loki, but not simply to bed you."

It was absurd to be jealous of his dead self, nearly obscene. Loki hadn't tried to research much of the mischief his previous incarnation had wrought, allowing Ikol to tell him only what was necessary for the tasks at hand and nothing more. He, the other Loki, had been wicked beyond imagining, chaos incarnate, a villain. And it seemed he had once been able to touch Thor as a lover. He'd always known he'd have to keep Ikol's true nature concealed from all, lest they pluck and spit the bird in a trice but for the first time, Loki felt the urge to give the ghost of his former self a swift kick of his own. 

How could anyone have one such as Thor and choose evil instead? Perhaps the rest of Asgard might drive even a god to villainy, and as for having Odin as a father, it was a wonder that they all weren't trolling the worlds wreaking havoc. But Thor was so indescribably…Thor. He _was_ goodness. 

Thor was oblivious to Loki's inner turmoil, his hands still petting, saying, "I am already your brother and your protector, I cannot, I _should_ not be everything to you. That would ultimately do you more harm than good, I think."

"Yet you object to my choice in lovers?" Loki couldn't help but needle him and earned a glare of his own, Thor's mouth tightened as he surely bit back his strong opinions on Loki's…sort of….paramour. 

"Are there none in all the youths of Asgardia who interest you?" Thor asked plaintively and Loki couldn't help a huff of laughter. 

"Thor," he said, with great patience. "I have as much in common with the youths of Asgardia as you have with the dog."

"Then perhaps I should speak with this—"

"Do not say it," Loki warned and this time he did squirm free. Thor allowed it, with reluctance, pushing Loki up to his feet and he ran his fingers through his tousled hair uselessly, resigned to looking like a ruffian for the time being. "You are my brother, true, but you are neither my father nor my lover. I can choose the companions of my bed without your assistance, thank you."

From the hot belligerence in Thor's eyes, Loki expected an objection or even Thor ignoring all protests and seeking Daimon out, and wouldn't that add an extra layer of humiliation to the top of his heaping pile. 

Instead, Loki was a little surprised at Thor's curt nod. "Very well, but brother, please, be careful."

"I will."

"And not simply of this demon exorcist," Thor gritted out, agonized, as though it hurt him to admit that many in Asgard would slit Loki's throat with cheer in their hearts. 

"I will," Loki repeated and he allowed Thor haul him in for another rough hug, resolutely did not feel his heart flip in his chest when Thor pressed a hard kiss against his forehead, the abrasion of his beard like a caress.

He waited until Thor took his leave, through the depilated roof rather than climbing down the hole in the floor, until he sagged back onto his sleeping mat and threw an arm over his eyes. 

Wings fluttered and Ikol settled on his upraised knee, his claws digging through the thinness of Loki's leggings. His continued silence seemed like an accusation until Loki recalled he'd ordered the bird not to speak. 

"Say it, then," Loki groaned, "But do it quickly."

"What is there to say?" Ikol replied and Loki peered from beneath his arm to see Ikol preening, beak smoothing his feathers into place.

"You always have an opinion, particularly when I don't want you to," Loki told him, jostling his knee so that Ikol had to spread his wings or risk losing his perch. 

"I have nothing to say on this," Ikol said. He was lying, a liar knows a liar, but Loki let it go and doesn't demand answers. Instead, he sat up and dragged one of the heavy books he'd been studying closer, choosing to lose himself in written words for a time. Somehow sleep, with its dreams and half-shadowed memories, didn't appeal to him this morning.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Before Loki had chosen this as a meeting place he had, of course, done his research. He had poured over his Stark phone and the wide world of the internet to choose the proper meeting ground. Not in Asgardia, no, that would bring up questions from others that Loki was loath to answer. 

Broxton was not an option, either, as gossip travelled swiftly and he knew well that the same questions and suspicion he was avoiding would follow him back. 

So he'd chosen Oklahoma City, a short bus ride from Broxton since Loki had neither a magic hammer nor the wings of a bird. Dressed as a Midgardian and he'd chosen his clothes carefully as well from his meager selection; jeans, a t-shirt declaring him a fan of the American Eagle, though he'd covered that with another shirt that buttoned. One had to be cautious about declaring allegiances and Loki did not want to bind his loyalties to either this country or a bird that he'd never met. One bird in his company was plenty. 

The bird in question had little to offer in the way of advice, other than instructing him to untuck his shirt, tie his shoes properly, and could he not comb his hair for a change? Ikol was acting more of a parent than a familiar, damned bird, but Loki did as instructed before gathering some of his Midgardian coin and making his way to the bus station.

The attendant had not given him so much as an odd glance, only took his money and then Loki was on his way, a mixture of uncertainty and eagerness churning in his stomach, and the sensation did not ease as he found their chosen meeting place. 

Nor did the ambience of the eatery soothe his nerves. Children shouted and darted about unattended and Loki wasn't certain if it was an evolutionary failure or simply a lack of manners that cause Midgardians to chew their food as though they were as bovine as the meal. Either way, it was disgusting. 

The meal itself, on the other hand, was exquisite, and Loki ate with an appreciation that Volstagg would admire. His companion, on the other hand…

"Don’t you care for the cuisine of the golden arches?" Loki asked, curiously. His own quarter pounder was delicious, though he did wonder why the meat must be beaten beforehand. Perhaps that was key to the preparation; he'd have to bring this information back to Volstagg, though the young lady who had taken his money had refused to give him the recipe for their secret sauce.

He'd declined her offer of a milkshake. 

Daimon reached across the table and neatly stole one of Loki's french fries, despite the fact that he had a full carton of them himself. "I like McDonald's fine. Unusual choice."

"I thought it was a tradition for dates to come to a restaurant?" Loki bit his lip, considering. The information he'd found on the Stark phone had assured him this was a suitable location. 

"Maybe if I was a teenager. Is this a date?" Daimon offered him a raised eyebrow, his eyes still concealed behind his sunglasses. He'd chosen to wear a shirt and for all that he'd claimed that his lack of one fed his reputation, Loki couldn't help but think he might consider wearing one more often. The tight black cotton stretched across his chest left little to the imagination, though Loki's helpfully strove to remind him of just what was beneath it.

Loki forced his attention back on his meal, chewing on a fry before asking, idly, "Is it?" 

"You asked me to meet you here," Daimon reminded him, reaching towards Loki's French fries and nimbly avoiding Loki's slap as he snatched one away. "You aren't rambling about any plans or schemes and we both know that your only motive isn't a value meal."

"I don't ramble!" Loki protested, outraged.

"Yeah, you do. Probably half the schemes you come up with people just agree to so you'll shut up."

Well, that was just rude. "And you have your own fries, leave mine be."

And perhaps the sight of Daimon wetting his lips, propping his chin on one hand as he peered over his sunglasses with demon bright eyes shouldn't have given Loki pause, a churning uneasiness in his middle subsiding in a rush of heat as Daimon murmured, "Yours taste better."

Loki swallowed and nearly choked, forced to drink quickly from his soda. Ikol had claimed once that his older self had been better with women. He wondered if that also applied to men.

* * *

After Thor had left him the day before, Loki had tried to lose himself in the papery embrace of a book and instead had fallen asleep, his head pillowed on the pages, dampening them with a line of spittle trailing from his slack lips. He'd woken later in the day with a dream still hazing his mind, memories of the taste of Thor's mouth and the dull ache of arousal between his legs. He'd stifled it as well as he could, unwilling to masturbate within sight of Thori or Ikol, both of whom would surely have biting comments about it, Thori probably literally. 

Instead, he'd crept into the alcove that housed his tiny lavatory, shut the door and leaned back against it, groping between his legs as he closed his eyes and thought of Daimon. The faint ash taste of his lips, the heat of his body pressed against him, the sticky-warmth of his cock against Loki's palm, like and not-like his own and Loki had come silently, catching the wetness in the cup of his hand to spare his clothing.

He'd waited until heartbeat had slowed and washed his hands several times though he suspected Ikol wasn't fooled. The magpie was conspicuously silent, only preened his feathers and watched with dark, knowing eyes as Loki settled back on his sleeping mat wearily. It was late afternoon, the sunlight was pouring in and Loki only dragged a blanket from one corner of his room, covered his head with it and fell back into a fitful sleep. 

Hours later, the sun dipping below the horizon, Loki had woken empty-eyed and shivering with the want of something that he could barely call by name. He buried his face into the blanket and by the time he remembered why it smelled sweet and flowery, why anything in his room would smell girlish, he'd already climbed to his feet and cast it aside. 

The next morning, he'd contacted Daimon.

* * *

That left him here, watching mutely as Daimon plucked another fry from his dwindling carton and this time he held it to Loki's mouth, just brushing his lips. He opened his mouth automatically and bit, tasted the hot, mealy salt of it and licked the traces away, his tongue brushing the pad of Daimon's thumb where it lingered against his lips. 

"You know, I only stopped by the other day for a little shared commiseration," Damian reminded him. He pressed his thumb between Loki's lips, dragged his nail lightly over the line of his teeth and the din of the restaurant seemed to fade. "Little sis was tough, I liked her. But that didn't mean you got to put me on your speed dial for a booty call."

Loki blinked as Daimon pulled his thumb away and it was like a spell had been broken, sharp annoyance rising in him, "That isn't why I called you."

Except wasn't it? He'd woken to a want and that want was named Daimon, wasn't it? 

What kind of lie did he need to tell himself?

Daimon slipped off his sunglasses, his eyes demon-bright and there was no one but the two of them as he asked, softly, "Then why am I here?" 

Loki closed his eyes, took a breath, another, then opened them again, met fire with ice-green as he whispered with as much honesty as he could, "I want you."

Daimon smirked at him, a brief flash of fangs. "C'mon, then."

He held out a hand and Loki took it, bare hand hot against his, and Loki let Daimon drag him along, left the littered remnants of their meal on the table as Daimon led him away. Oklahoma City was nothing like Broxton, instead raising his faint memories of Paris, for all that he'd only been there briefly. The smell was different, the very air was different, but the cityscape felt the same; Paris, Oklahoma City, London; every Midgardian city felt like siblings to him. 

To his surprise, Daimon dragged him down an alleyway, skirting around dumpsters and debris as he led them into the deeper shadows. "What are you do-ing!" 

His furious whisper ended in a muffled yelp. Daimon lifted him easily with one arm, the other caught behind his knee, dragging his leg upward to curve around Daimon's hip as he pressed Loki against the uneven bricks of the wall. 

Oh. Well, then. 

The bricks were rough, not quite biting through the thinness of his shirts and Daimon's mouth was livid with heat, teeth sharp against Loki's mouth. His face was beardless, no scrape of stubble, not like…and there was a memory to set aside. Loki tipped his head up into the kiss eagerly, let his mouth fall open at the press of tongue and—oh.

"Oh," Loki whined as Daimon slipped a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, gripping his backside with bruising force. There was only their clothing separating them, Daimon tight between Loki's legs and he was braced against the wall and the hard line of Daimon's body, one foot on the ground and only barely at that. 

Sharp teeth nipped at the tip of Loki's tongue and he hissed, words garbling between their mouths because Daimon had both hands on Loki's ass, dragging him off his feet to press tighter against the wall. His own hands were tangled into Daimon's hair, surely gripping too-hard but no protests were offered. Only Daimon tearing free of the kiss, shifting Loki higher still as he pressed his face against Loki's belly, his breath bleeding hot through thin cotton. 

Loki caught his breath, trembling as he clutched at Daimon's hair, his shoulders, anywhere he could reach. Oh, this was a phenomenally bad idea, it was broad daylight and getting caught would be horribly embarrassing. It was a train wreck in a catastrophe of bad ideas and Loki wanted it so, so much. The bricks were catching on his hair, tiny bursts of pain whenever Loki moved and Daimon had shifted his grip to Loki's hips, his thumbs easing his t-shirt up until he could mouth at the pale line of exposed skin. 

"Is this okay, kid?" Hot, slick pressure of a tongue against his skin, dipping lightly into his belly button and Loki stared down at him in disbelief.

"You're asking me that now?" Loki demanded, squirming against his grip. His jeans were achingly tight, not having nearly as much give as his leggings provided.

Laughter let another hot gust of air against him and Loki bit his tongue to hold in a whimper. "Yeah, I'm asking you that now, so answer me. Is this all right?"

"Yes," Loki ground out, "Yes, so if you wouldn't mind--"

A flash of crimson eyes peered up at him from beneath dark lashes. "Don't mind at all."

The button of his jeans gave with a flick of a thumb, the zipper too-loud and distracting and then there was only wet heat, oh, Odin's blood, _hot_ , the faintest scrape of teeth before Daimon slicked his tongue against him, the slippery glide against the head of his cock made Loki scrabble again at Daimon's shoulders, his nails skittering uselessly over leather. 

"I'd get on my knees for you," Daimon husked out, barely loud enough to be heard over Loki's soft cry as he licked again, "But I really like these pants."

Yes, yes, of course, they were very nice pants, and Loki couldn't say he minded dangling against the brick wall. There was something to be said for a partner strong enough to toss him about like a puppet, something obscene, he was sure. Loki swallowed hard against a louder cry as Daimon shifted, the silkiness of his mouth like nothing Loki had ever dreamt, hot, _so_ hot, sucking him with easy skill, oh. His thumbs stroked at the hollows of Loki's hips, soothingly, or attempting it, as though anything could soothe him now. Not when all he could do was bite back the sounds trying to escape him, struggling against the hard wall behind him, trying to arch up, trying for—he didn't even know. 

A strangled, lost sound fought its way through the tightness of his throat and Loki tipped his head back, stared blindly up through fire escapes and electric wires at the cloudy blueness of the sky as he shivered and came. Felt Daimon startle, not quite choking, and Loki thought dimly that perhaps he should have said something, offered some warning. As though he could speak, as though he could do anything but whimper and sigh and spill over the stroking pressure of Daimon's tongue.

He was still quivering when the world seemed to shift and he realized he could feel the ground beneath his feet again, his knees very nearly giving out and spilling him into the scatter of trash and cigarette butts around them. Slitting his eyes open took an effort and he blinked to find Daimon's face only inches from his own, his reddened lips like an invitation, one that Loki took, licked the bitter salt taste of himself out of that swollen mouth. 

His mouth, oh, yes, the sudden urge to return the favor made saliva well up that Loki had to swallow away. He was already sliding lower, mouthing the hard line of Daimon's throat, when fingers caught beneath his chin, holding him still.

"Not this time, kid," Daimon whispered and he met Loki's confusion with another kiss, stealing his hand and pressing it between them. This much at least was familiar, this he'd done and when Daimon sighed into his mouth, slick wetness spurting against Loki's palm, this time Loki had his own handkerchief to wipe it away with. He was a quick learner, after all. He tossed it alongside the other rubbish lining the alley, slipping free from Daimon's loosened grip to straighten his clothes. 

"Why did you stop me?" Loki asked, only slightly piqued. It was too easy to sink into the languid aftermath to spare any emotion for irritation. "I'm sure I wouldn't have been so very terrible."

"I bet you would have done just fine," Daimon looked amused. "But I do have some conscience. You're all of what, fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Well," Loki hedged. That was a subject he would have rather avoided, all things considered. "I was technically reborn perhaps…six months ago? My age would be an interesting theological debate, I'm sure—"

Daimon closed his eyes, his expression pained, "No, it's seriously not interesting at all. Do me a favor and never tell anyone you're six months old. We're going with sixteen."

"That seems like a good choice, particularly since I've been wanting my driving license-" A fingertip against his lips silenced him. 

"I have some conscience," Daimon repeated, lightly stroking Loki's lower lip with a gentle fingertip. "And I wasn't about to let you try going down on someone for the first time here."

Ah. Loki glanced around with a jaundiced eye; it was rather filthy and garbagy and disgusting. "That didn't stop you from doing it to me."

Daimon's sharp grin widened. "I said I have _some_ conscience."

"Right," Loki rubbed a hand over his head, wincing at the sweaty mess of his hair. Much as he was enjoying his newfound indulgence in sexual pleasure, he had to admit that the aftermath left something to be desired. Perhaps at some point they should try this in a bed, where his post-orgasmic lassitude wouldn't be a hindrance. Just thinking about his long bus ride back to Broxton made him wince. Thinking of which, "Much as I hate to cut our," Loki coughed, "Meeting short, I do have a bus to catch in a short while."

"Cutting and running on our first date?" Daimon pushed his sunglasses back on and instantly looked just as intimidatingly gorgeous as ever. It was honestly unfair that he looked casually tousled and Loki probably looked like a drenched cat. Every part of him felt damp beneath his clothes and really, next time there needed to be a bed and slightly more nudity. 

"I can't do magic," Loki reminded him, a little stiffly. It was growing into something of a sore point, everyone seemed to expect him to weave spells and mysteries and thus far, Loki couldn't weave on a loom. Again, he wasn't certain if others were relieved or disappointed to learn that he was powerless but Loki was certain that he knew how _he_ felt about it, particularly when it involved a long ride on a bus.

Daimon only offered him another little smirk. "I think I can give you a lift home. We skipped the movie but dinner and second base is pretty respectable for a first date."

And there was no time for protest, or for Loki to think of an excuse better than the, _I shouldn't be seen with you_ that was actually the truth, before Daimon looped an arm around his waist and the world was flames. 

When he could breathe again, Loki coughed out ash and saw through watering eyes that Asgardia was before him. They weren’t far from the great dirty hole in the ground. "An interesting way to travel," Loki spat to clear his mouth, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "The aroma leaves something to be desired."

"You get used to it," Daimon caught his arm and pulled him back in, held him still for a kiss that was surely a poor idea. Poor idea or no, Loki wasn't interested in resisting, the taste of ash seemed better when it was shared. With the ache of his desire somewhat eased, kissing was proving to be an event in and of itself. The gentle press of a tongue against his lips, slipping inside to dance with his own before pulling back and biting lightly at Loki's lower lip, sucking at the tiny wound while Loki clung to him, lashes fluttering on his cheeks and that inner burn was rising again, the _want_ of it--

"I think you may wish to do that elsewhere," His brother's voice, deep and cool with disapproval, rang out somewhere above them. "Perhaps somewhere that isn't visible to the entire realm?"

Yes, a very poor idea, and Loki stepped away, looked up to see his brother landing nearby, his arms crossed over his chest and nearly radiating disapproval. Loki could only marvel at his own poor luck, to have been discovered by Thor so quickly. Had he been waiting all this time for Loki to return... and wasn't that a disturbing thought. "Brother, I—"

"Thor," Daimon interrupted him smoothly. He kept a hand in the small of Loki's back, the heat heavy through his thin t-shirt. "It's been a long time."

From Thor's expression, he felt it hadn't been nearly long enough and his lips thinned further, "Daimon Hellstrom. Yes, we met some time ago, did we not?"

"Yeah, a while back, when I was hanging out with the Defenders," Daimon replied. His hand slid up Loki's spine, smoothed up to his neck, his thumb rubbing little circles against the nape and Loki shivered, he should say something, shouldn't he, step in between his brother and his…his lover, yes, that was what he _should_ do. Whether it was an impulse for mischief or simply a saner choice to stay out of their line of fire, Loki couldn't say but he kept his silence. Stood before his brother with sweat still cooling on his skin, while Daimon's fingers tangled lightly into his hair. 

"The Defenders," Thor repeated and the ice in his voice made Loki shiver, though he was the one with a frost giant lineage. "And now you work alone."

"I freelance," Daimon tipped his sunglasses down and the hellfire blaze of his eyes glowed forth. Loki stifled a sigh and twisted away from Daimon's hand. Obviously he would have to be the one to resolve this before the two of them started pissing on his boots.

"How nice that the two of you have met before," Loki said, loudly, and cringed as the heavy weight of two gazes swung over to meet him. "I apologize most sincerely for our unbecomingly public show of affection. In the future, we will be more discreet."

A long silence and then Thor said, slowly, his eyes not on Loki, "See that you do."

"Sure," Daimon said easily. He tucked his hands into his pockets and his t-shirt stretched over his chest, showing the play of his muscles. Loki resolutely did not roll his eyes, and reminded himself that there were worse options. Perhaps when Daimon and Thor were finished showing off their manhoods, he would be able to appreciate that t-shirt at length. Preferable crumpled on a floor. "I can take him back to my place."

In hell? There was a discussion for another time. Loki wasn't _that_ interested in sex. 

They stared at each other for another long moment, the air thick with challenge, before Thor finally flicked a glance to Loki, "I shall see you this evening, brother."

Loki nodded, already resigned, "Of course."

And with a whirl of Mjölnir, Thor was away from them and Loki sighed, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. It could have gone worse, he supposed; there could have been blood spilled. His own blood in particular Loki preferred running through him rather than out. 

He blinked to realize Daimon was looking at him strangely, his face a mask. "So that's how it is."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Loki said, carefully. Perhaps they weren't out of the realm of bloodshed just yet.

Daimon laughed outright and the derision in it made something sharp and pained flare in Loki's chest, "Did you seriously just try an innocent look on me? Please, kid. If you're going to use me to make big brother jealous, I could have used a warning to watch my back."

"I'm not!" Loki protested and he stumbled back as Daimon reached for him, yanking him close with far more strength than he'd used before. The bones in his wrist ground together uncomfortably as Daimon pinned his hand into the small of his back, forcing Loki to press against him as he leaned in to breathe against his ear. 

"Please. Half the universe thinks everything between you two is an old lover's spat." Sharp teeth caught on the lobe of his ear, hard enough to make Loki gasp.

"A lover's spat that has, on occasion, destroyed cities and worlds?" Loki choked out. Part of him demanded that he struggle, fight his way free, and the other part of him, darker and smaller within, relished the bruising grip. Tomorrow he would see the outline of fingers webbed on the pale skin of his wrist, dark as a crow's wing, and he would have to force himself to tug his gloves down over it. Would have to resist the urge to touch it again and again, to feel the phantom blurt of pain. 

Daimon laughed and his breath was like fire, smoky contempt and cinders, "You Asgardians never do anything small."

"That was the other Loki, not me," Loki protested. The other-Loki, a shadow always cast over him, always, always. 

"Kid, there's only ever one Loki and thank Christ for that," Daimon pulled back to smirk down at him, "But go ahead, tell me that you don't want him." His smirk widened and he tugged on Loki's captured wrist, drawing out a yelp of pain, "Go on. Lie to me."

"What exactly is it that you want to hear?" Loki gasped, eyes watering. 

"Oh, don't worry about that," Daimon said, softly, "I can work with this."

Daimon moved with a swiftness that caught Loki off guard, sweeping Loki's feet out from under him. He hit the ground hard, breath leaving him in a pained rush and there was no time to roll away before Daimon was on top of him, strong hands pinning his wrists to the ground. It was useless to struggle; Daimon was heavy over him and his fingers were already growing numb from the grip. 

Again, Loki was unpleasantly reminded that Daimon was strong, strong enough to hold him down. Strong enough to do anything and that shouldn't have made the tamped heat low in Loki's belly blaze to life again. 

"If you don't want it, tell me to stop," Daimon breathed damply into Loki's ear. "C'mon, I'm a good guy these days. Tell me. I'll stop."

"Sssss," Loki curled his tongue against his teeth, biting the tip as Daimon shifted to hold both of Loki's wrists in one hand, sliding the other down beneath his t-shirt, fingertips finding bruises that he'd left before unerringly, pressing against them until Loki let out a protesting moan. Skirted lower, a hot, rough hand on the bare skin of his belly, barred from going further by Loki's belt. 

"If you say, I'll stop," Daimon crooned. "Or don't say anything and I'll suck you off right here where anyone could see."

"You—" Loki choked out and it sounded nothing like stop. 

"I'd do either one…heh, or maybe not," Daimon whispered, a low, breathless laugh and Loki blinked up at him in hazy confusion and through the ashy heat surrounding him, he could smell ozone. 

Thor.

"He's still watching. You could scream for him right now and he'd come save you, wouldn't he. Carry you away, your rescuer and who knows what would happen after that. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"No," Loki gasped and Daimon stilled. He pulled back to study Loki with his blazing eyes and whatever it was he saw, he nodded and let Loki's wrists go.

"Not this time, then," Daimon murmured. He shifted back, slowly, pushing up to his knees as Loki lay crumpled on the ground, wanting, did he want—hands dragged him up and a hot, _hot_ mouth was against his own, teeth biting kisses against his lips and Loki wound his arms around Daimon's neck and held on, hard, biting back because he could until some of his franticness eased and Daimon was kissing him gently, rubbing their bruised mouths together in a mimicry of a kiss. 

"See you around, kid," Daimon whispered into his mouth and Loki wondered if it were true. He sat on the ground, legs splayed and dirt ground into his jeans and watched Daimon walk away, disappearing in a flare of hellfire and smoke.

Shakily, Loki managed to get to his knees, took a deep breath and then another. He heard the flutter of wings before Ikol settle on his shoulder. 

"Ikol," Loki whispered. His throat felt sore, raw, "Did you hear him? What he said…"

Ikol cawed, his feathers silken where they brushed Loki's cheek. "It was never a lover's spat." And before Loki could relax, "It was never so simple as that."

No question seemed reasonable, no answer that Loki wanted to hear, so he said nothing. Listened to Ikol chirk and caw, hopping along his shoulder before he finally spoke again.

"This is a dangerous game," Ikol told him.

Loki laughed and heard the shakiness in it. "Those are the best kind." He slanted the bird a glance, "You've been very quiet about all this. I would have thought you'd appreciate a chance for a little mischief."

"You're bringing chaos to yourself," Ikol croaked, hopping down from his shoulder to peck at the ground. 

"And?"

"Some lessons can only be learnt first-hand." 

"Stupid bird," Loki muttered and Ikol paid him no heed, decapitating ants with his beak before consuming them in a quick, gulping rush.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is lovely artwork for this chapter, which you can view here:
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> [Daimon and Loki](http://kidlokisspookybooty.tumblr.com/post/32684553452/this-is-for-keelywolfes-sorting-through)
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> Please, give the artist some love!


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Loki had been in the kitchens of new Asgardia often, if one were to demand the truth from him. He was a prince, yes, named Odin's son, but sitting at a feast table with the glares of dozens focused on him did tend to spoil the appetite, something that Volstagg had always noticed and, depending on how much mead he'd consumed, took to commenting about. The Aesir were most fond of eating and seeing that Loki did not clean his plate led to more suspicious looks, a circular route of scowls and Loki picking at his plate, all of which tended to leave him with an empty belly. 

That had led him sneaking into the kitchens after mealtimes, snatching his meals from platters that had been carried back from the tables. He didn't mind; the food was usually still warm and tasted all the better for the petty theft involved. 

His own grumbling stomach hadn't led him to creep in this night. The food of the clan McDonalds had proven to be most filling even with half of his french fries finding their way into a gullet that wasn't his own, and there was a memory that Loki would do well not to recall when he spoke with Thor. 

No, it was for Thor that he was here this night, sliding through shadows as the servants and cooks did their work, cleaned dishes and pans, finished the bread for the morning baking. Thor had simple pleasures; smiting evil, mead, and food, and while Loki was not able to supply the first two, the third was not beyond his reach. Meeting him with a loaded tray of vittles would surely bring an improvement to his mood. 

Already he had managed to secret away a few apples, though sneaking a bite of one, wiping away the juice that spilled down his chin with the back of his hand. Ikol was not with him to disapprove, probably because sneaking through the kitchens was a difficult enough task without a bird on one's shoulder and also the sight of other poultry turning on a spit might be unnerving for one of the fowl persuasion. 

In the burlap bag he'd taken from one table, Loki added the apples, though his eye was on the leftover beef roast on another table, already cut and waiting for his quick grab. One of the cooks was too close as of yet, but he would turn, move to check on one of the burbling pots or another and when he did—

"What do we have here?" A low, feminine voice asked from behind him and Loki groaned inwardly, caught too soon. He turned slowly, lifting eyes that he was already shifting to apologetic and found a large woman looking down on him with a raised eyebrow, her broad face mild, creased with age rather than suspicion. 

Volstagg's wife, he realized, Hildegund. Her long braids were bound around her head, wisps escaping here and there, and she had both hands on her broad hips as she stared down at Loki, surely waiting for an explanation. 

Loki caught whiff of yeasty sweetness and realized there was a tray of sweet buns laid out on the nearby table, still steaming hot. There was her reasoning for being here at least; likely she was taking advantage of the hot kitchen ovens to make her family an evening treat.

No surprise there, she was rumored to be an excellent cook, with her husband as example to her skills, and with the brood of children she and Volstagg had surely she spent a great deal of her time honing that skill to the sharpness of a knife blade. 

Loki wet his lips and considered what he might tell her. Volstagg, he knew how to coax, and his children as well. Of all the youths of Asgardia, none of Volstagg's had ever tried to bully or threaten him. None had offered him bruises as gifts or scorn, abuse for crimes they knew little about. On a handful of occasions, the braver of them had even sought him out and begged for stories, imploring him to leave in the gutting and bloody wounds that their father was wont to skip over. And he had, what harm was there in it, satisfying their bloodthirsty desire with tales neither true nor false, but a mingling of the two, and they had repaid them by watching Thori on occasion, although Loki suspected they had gotten the short end of that deal. 

In all of Asgardia, Loki could say truthfully if there were any that he simply liked, it would be Volstagg and his brood. His wife, on the other hand…

"And what sort of trouble are you seeking here, Loki?" she asked, eyebrows raised as she waited for whatever excuse he might weave. 

…his wife, Loki had never spoken to before. Not once. 

"Alas, none, for a person who angers the cook never gets a decent meal," Loki sketched a half-bow to her and offered a bright smile. Hilde only shook her head.

"Ever a silver tongue," she said, wryly. "And your concern about a decent meal seems misplaced as you missed the eventide one."

"I did," Loki admitted, "My thoughts were far from food and by the time I recalled it, the meal was over and done." Not quite a truth this day but on any other it would be close enough. The other cooks had noticed him by now, derailing his plan of sneaking away with any other delicacies. At least they hadn't forcibly ejected him from the kitchens; Hilde's presence seemed to be offering him a little leeway for the time being. 

Hilde herself only clicked her tongue softly and collected up a tray, laying out fruit and cheese, ladling out a bowl of the leftover stew, and adding a slice of bread that she piled high with slices of the roast beef. As Loki watched, she shook out a napkin and wrapped up two of the sweet buns before presenting Loki with the heavily laden tray. He took it with a grunt of effort, nearly staggering beneath the weight, and offered her a winning smile. 

"Thank you, lady," Loki said with quiet sincerity, the most that he could offer.

"See that you eat most of it," she chided. Her plump cheeks were rosy in the heat of the kitchens, wisps of hair clinging to her damp forehead and Loki thought she was a beauty worthy of the name goddess. "Ah, but wait."

Hilde bustled over to the scrap barrel and snatched up a large bone, wrapping in another napkin before adding it to his burden. "I believe dogs need their meals as well."

"Thori will well appreciate your kindness."

She laughed, deeply and laced with her pleasure, and as she did so, she reached up to tuck a straying lock of his hair behind his ear. Loki surprised himself by allowing it. "He will not, as you and I both know."

"Truer words were rarely spoken," Loki agreed wryly, and he dipped his head to her again, not daring to bow for fear the overladen tray would tip him to the floor. He backed out of the kitchens with it, careful of his elbows because he hadn't made it this far to risk angering the kitchen staff by making a mess. Hilde gave him another smile before turning back to her tray and Loki had no doubt that the rest of those buns would be vanishing into the mouths of her children and husband in very little time. 

The tray was heavy, piled high with food and there was even a small cup in one corner that made Loki suspicious that Thor would be getting mead after all. It was more food than he would have eaten on his own even if he had actually missed the evening meal. No matter; Thor would be surely be happy to tuck into his second dinner of the day and the smell of the sweet buns was close to heady, yeasty warmth coupled with spices and slathered with a sticky glaze. 

Food of the gods, indeed. Thor might have to battle him for his share of dessert.

The hallways were mostly empty; with the evening meal concluded most would have gone to their own rooms, to spend time with family or friends. It made creeping through the hallways less necessary and Loki was somewhat grateful for that. Speaking to Thor again about his…indiscretions…was going to enough of a task before bedtime. 

A lecture, perhaps, about timing. About place and discretion and Loki would do his best to seem contrite while he did not watch Thor eat, did not let Thor's lecture remind him of the taste of Daimon's mouth against his own, the heat of his hands burning against his wrists. The bruises were already hidden beneath Loki's gloves as changing back into his own clothing had seemed a better choice than meeting with his brother with the scent of semen still clinging to his Midgardian wardrobe. 

See? There was discretion right there. He would share a meal for the second time this day and offer the proper apologies and perhaps Thor would accept it, believe his regret and he would offer Loki a smile. Even a hug, pull Loki in with one strong arm and his mouth would be sticky with sweet icing from the buns and—but no. Best not push his luck any further today.

His wrists were aching from more than bruises by the time he made his way to Thor's rooms, the heavy tray getting heavier by the moment, and he was struggling to adjust his grip enough to knock when he heard it.

Even through the heavy door, the sound was unmistakable. Rhythmic movement coupled with moans, low and base and masculine alongside softer, feminine cries and-

Loki closed his eyes, drew in a hard breath through his mouth. Of course, Lady Sif was likely with him, of course, and a sense of heaviness rose in his chest. 

It was not jealousy. Asgardians did not hold to the standards of monogamy that Midgard folk did and often took lovers. Hel, Odin was renowned for it and had left behind a string of children besides.

He was not jealous and never mind that Thor had _asked_ to meet him later. Never mind that Thor was allowed to call him a whore, to offer him glares and insults when he met Loki's lover. 

His appetite was soured and Loki set the tray down next to the door with deliberate care, silent as a tomb. One of the servants would clear it away. He did snatch up the little packet with the bone, Thori had likely already savaged his spare boots in revenge for being left on his own for so long. After a second thought, he grabbed up the packet with the sweet rolls as well, hugging both to his chest clumsily.

Through the heavy door he heard his brother's voice, a deep-throated groan, and Loki backed several steps away, nearly stumbling, before he turned and ran.

His tower seemed stifling, for all that half of the roof was missing. He gathered a blanket and his hellhound, coaxing Thori along with promises of a bone, and snuck down to the cave, Leah's…no, now it was his, was it not, his great dirty hole in the ground. Curled up on the ground that was only a little harder than his sleeping mat and waited until Thori was absorbed in his bone before pressing a hand between his legs.

Every sound in the cave echoed, every groan that escaped him, the slick sound of skin on skin so terribly loud and Loki bit his lip when he crested, tasted the sea-salt flavor of his own blood as he spilled into his own palm and lay back, gasping, sweat-damp and exhausted.

The low flutter of wings was like an afterthought, a reminder, and Loki turned his head away from Ikol, did not look at him. 

"A dangerous game," Ikol repeated, hoarse and low.

"Be quiet," Loki told him, without heat. Weakly, he rolled to his side and caught sight of his napkin-bundle, the linen smudged with dirt. He opened it with sticky fingers and took up one of the buns. It was cold, the oven's warmth long since departed. He ate it anyway, bites of bread and icing and when he licked his fingers clean he could taste mingled salt and sweetness on them, his own flavor mixed with congealed sugar.

~~*~~


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at the very end of Chapter 3, Thor's POV.

* * *

He should leave. 

Thor was aware that staying, that _watching_ , was a gross invasion of privacy. His concern over his brother was perhaps warranted and when he'd learned Loki had traveled into Midgard this day, well, Loki being Loki there were none who would fault him for waiting to speak to his brother upon his return. 

To find him yet again with his demon lover's mouth on him hadn't been ideal and, again, it was fair to say that none would blame him for asking some discretion of them. None in Asgard would blame _Thor_ for his concerns but Loki did not have the same favor and being spied upon by others than Thor with such a man would not do well by him. And Loki's scales were already tipped far out of the realm of approval. 

A little prudence would only serve Loki well and it was one of the very, very few lessons Thor wished the boy had carried from his former life. He didn't remember his little brother being so terribly reckless in such a long time…but then, Thor didn't recognize a great deal from this Loki. 

For one, he certainly didn't recall Loki having such horrible taste.

Thor watched from afar with narrowed eyes as the demon, Daimon Hellstrom, yes, they had met some time ago, pulled Loki back in with rough hands. They weren't kissing, not yet, and if this was what they considered discretion—bah. 

He _should_ leave and yet, has he not left Loki alone enough? Not by choice and it is not his wish to do so, and yet, if wishes were stars the heavens would glitter as daylight. Much as he wished to protect his brother, snatch him up and away from this…this demon that he has taken up with, he cannot deny that Loki needs others and needs to be able to make his own choices. 

Even this one. 

Thor watched as the half-demon…the _man_ , full grown, far too old for his little brother, far too rough for his little brother, pinned the boy down in the dirt. This was as far from discretion as possible without the loss of clothes and the heavy weight of Mjölnir in his hand was begging for him to use it, to bash this miscreant away. And yet, Loki was not fighting, not crying out for help and he resisted the urge to intervene. He'd already made mistakes with regard to this issue and had no intention of making another.

From the first moment he'd seen the two of them together, walking out of that little, half-hidden cave, he'd known something was amiss. Thor had nearly called out a wary greeting, his words dying back when the two of them embraced and rage had boiled within him. 

He hadn't recognized the man at first, unable to see past the blood-crimson of his own fury. At this demon who had dared defile his little brother, at Loki for lowering himself to this. Looking back, Thor could feel shame at his reaction and he'd regretted the harshness of his words the moment they'd left his lips, before they'd even had a chance to wound and his anger had left him in a cold rush, to see Loki's eyes widen, the barely stifled tears spilling. 

Loki had run from him, ignored Thor shouting after him and why should he not? Was he not already bullied and abused by many others? Thor wasn't blind, how could he fail to see how his little brother was treated and this when Thor was with him. 

He knew and Thor, who was a god, a defender of Asgard and Midgard, of all the Nine realms, was helpless to defend one boy against his own people. 

So this he would allow, watch with gritted teeth as Loki squirmed against his lover and, oh, Thor would have given much for one, just one, of Loki's peers to cast aside prejudices and offer mere sweet, shy kisses rather than this. 

Thor lifted a hand to his own lips as he watched Loki's shirt rode up from his wriggling, exposing a pale flash of skin, and remembered the kiss his little brother had given him; sweet, yes, but there had been nothing of shyness in it. He wondered darkly just what else this devil had taught Loki.

Daimon had Loki pinned to the ground, both his slim wrists in one hand, and a certain familiarity to it made Thor shift uncomfortably. Thor knew the feel of Loki's wrists in his own grip, knew the feel of tiny bones grinding, of the sharp gasp and sharper laughter his brother was wont to offer, green eyes glittering with malice and lust, he knew--

Not this Loki, no. Lightning itched within in him, whispering to be released, to pour across the sky, illuminating his rage and Thor withheld it, watching. Did he hear Loki make even one sound of protest, one cry of pain, this Daimon Hellstrom would be gathering his entrails from across the desert.

There was none and Thor took a breath, relaxed his grip on Mjölnir's handle. The demon had released the boy and stood, leaving Loki sprawled in the dirt like a common whore rather than a prince of Asgard and in the past Loki had been both. Thor closed his eyes, forced his breathing to remain even, his temper to recede. He wanted better than that for this Loki, better than rolling in the filth and seeing what stains came with it. But this was not his choice to make.

He watched as Daimon vanished in a roar of flame and Loki rolled easily to his feet. Still coltishly slim and not at all comfortable yet in his own skin but Thor could see the beginnings of his inner grace, that he would carry with him through his life. No magic-weaving, not yet for this one, but he was still Loki.

The boy turned back to Asgard, walking with a quick stride, the large bird that often accompanied him soaring overhead. Thor chose to take a moment before chasing after him and perhaps he would avoid the lecture for a short time, perhaps he would simply spend some time with the boy, ask after his studies or even play one of the gambling games the boy was so fond of; brotherly pursuits in which they'd rarely been able to indulge. 

The faintest hint of brimstone had Thor whirling before he'd even realized what it was, hackles rising and Daimon stood before him, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded Thor, his eyes shaded by dark glasses. 

"Got the feeling that you wanted to talk a little more," Daimon said, lazily, and Thor had not grown from a child himself as Loki's brother without recognizing a ruse. The tension in the man's shoulders fairly vibrated in the air and magic was heavy around them, braced for a fight. 

"Perhaps," Thor said coolly, narrowing his eyes. He kept his hands visible and away from Mjölnir, reminding himself that he did not, in fact, want to do battle with Loki's paramour. "It would seem my demands for decorum fell upon deaf ears."

"Knew you were watching," Daimon shrugged carelessly. "Half the fun of dating a bad boy is getting to parade them in front of the family."

"And you didn't wish to waste the opportunity," Thor said dryly. "I doubt that your father would be equally impressed."

Daimon barked out a surprised laugh, "Oh, I don’t know," and there was something sharp, almost bitter in that smile, something that Thor could appreciate in reference to fathers. "The old man might appreciate the irony." He tucked his hands into his pockets and tipped his head to the side. "Going to tell me to take a walk?"

Thor frowned and considered that. "If you mean am I going to want you away from him, no," Thor said slowly. "Loki does not have an easy life here. I am not about to deprive him of one who gives him comfort."

"No? Do I get the speech about killing me if I hurt him then?" Daimon offered him another grin, one made up of sharp teeth and mockery. "I've never heard the Asgardian version."

"Hurting him is inevitable," Thor said shortly, "He is young and you are not, and eventually, you'll bore of him. I would not kill you for that." Thor hardened his glare, felt the hot crackle of lightning writhing within him. "However, if you _harm_ him. If this is a scheme or a ploy to manipulate him—"

Daimon snorted aloud and shook his head, red hair whisking around his head in the sudden rush of chilling wind. "You think I can manipulate Loki?"

"If this is so," Thor continued doggedly, through gritted teeth, "There is no realm you can hide from me. They will hear the echo of your screams in the stars and I will splatter your blood to fat the maggots of your hell."

Thor had stepped closer, enforcing his words with action and Daimon finally slipped down his glasses, met Thor's gaze with the banked coals of his own. He tilted his head, as though curious, and said, softly, "I just sucked him off, a few minutes ago. Bet you can still taste it."

Thor's eyes widened, taken aback as he seized on the meaning, what in the Nine worlds did he--

He was too close to flinch as Daimon leaned forward and kissed him, hard, one hand gripping Thor's hair and his tongue gagging deep, forcing him to taste the mouth that had so recently tasted Loki. Hot, hot mouth, nothing like the last kiss Thor had had, nothing of Loki's cool softness, his wintry sweetness. An endless moment and beneath the earthiness of ash, of Hell, was another flavor, faint salt and heady bitterness and this was a taste he knew.

Thor braced an arm between them and shoved him violently away and Daimon staggered back, nearly falling. He caught his balance and laughed, softly, "How did he taste?"

"You—" Thor started, his voice dangerously soft and the clouds rolled in above them, darkening threateningly.

"I'm not looking to harm him," Daimon was already backing away, hands held before him in a mockery of surrender. "It's never a good idea to break an Asgardian's toy."

He vanished in a wall of flame and Thor was alone, rain already pattering down upon him and lightning arced brilliantly across the sky. He took a deep, shaky breath, licked his lips and tasted rainwater, tasted--

Odin's blood, it was a good thing that Loki had already returned to Asgard.

Thor stood in the cooling wash of rain for a long moment and none of it would soothe the simmer of his blood. Sif would have finished her training with the Brigade of the Realms, by now, would have bathed and would perhaps be in her chambers and happy to provide a distraction.

Thor made a quick decision, swiped the wet strands of his hair out of his face as he turned towards Asgard. He barely noticed as a magpie flew overhead. And another, the pair of them flapping through the wind as Thor chose to walk back to Asgard, clothes dripping wet and clinging icily, his cloak tangling soddenly around his legs. None of it cooled his inner heat, the raging fire riled within him and he walked faster, faster, through the growing storm. 

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at the beginning of Everything Burns. Spoilers for The Might Thor #18 and Journey Into Mystery #642.

* * *

Run, Thor told him. 

Loki stood next to his brother with the host of Asgard before them, all his schemes unraveling, and his lies coming to the fore. Every warrior in Asgardia, save one, stood against him. They stood brandishing a Stark pad, technology that they barely understood and yet they still believed the truths that it revealed. Partial truths; technology's greatest flaw was its lack of subtleties and Loki's greatest weakness that no one would let him _explain_ , if he even could. 

Yes, it showed him releasing Surtur, but that had been a cruel necessity, and he'd been coming up with a plan for that. Yes, it showed the All-Mother's knowledge of it, but knowledge was neither endorsement nor complicity. Yes, he'd helped the Manchester Gods, ended the war in their favor and yes, it was their Engel fire being used against Asgard now, but they had been in the right at the time he'd helped them, Loki knew they had. Yes, Loki had lied, yes, he had bartered with wicked beings, yes and yes and yes. 

Was there an explanation from any that could be believed, much less one from Loki?

Run, Thor told him. 

And Loki ran. 

His lungs burned, his legs aching and still he ran, through the crowd and their shouts. Behind him he could hear fighting, the crack of thunder, lightning, and still he ran, half-expecting the angry mob to descend upon him and this time there would be no mercy for any Loki, even a child. They would rend him limb from limb. A single hand skated down the back of his tunic, sliding without purchase and Loki wrenched away with a silent scream. There was no breath left to him for anything but running towards the edge of Asgardia. 

He'd heard that in the past Midgardians had believed their world was flat and that did they travel to the far reaches of it, they could fall off the edge. It was a fantasy, of course, borne of ignorance. Asgardia had no such fallacy and when he came to the edge of the world, his heart pounding and close to limping, his legs sprung and aching, Loki jumped. 

The air was icy as he plummeted, sheeting his clothes with moisture that seeped through his tunic, chilling even him. The fall wouldn't kill him but Loki was under no illusions that it would be painless. Far below lay the ruins of the Asgard left behind by the Serpent and beneath that hard earth. Whatever was beneath that did not bear considering. 

Exhausted, tired beyond any endurance, Loki closed his eyes and fell.

* * *

_Days Before_

He'd woken that morning in the cave, the thin comfort of his blanket not enough to protect him from the aches of sleeping on stone. Thori snored nearby, whimpering occasionally and snorting tiny sparks, ripping creatures to death in his fondest dreams, no doubt. 

The cave was long since empty of the comforts Leah had brought to it, Loki had seen to that some time ago, and so there was nothing in it that he hadn't carried with him the night before. Just the thin blanket that covered him and the leftover sweet roll Hilde had given him. Left out, it was as hard as the stone surrounding them, inedible, and Loki cast it aside. It didn't matter; his stomach's complaints could be borne for now. 

Ikol was perched on a nearby stone, preening feathers that were already glossy black. Ikol, who had, Loki suspected, been sullenly avoiding him, except with the occasional proclamations about Loki's poor choices. As if he was one to talk. 

"We need to find more comfortable places to hide ourselves," Loki told him, grimacing as he stretched, trying to work out the kinks where pebbles had tried to bore holes in him the night before. 

"You could stop hiding," Ikol suggested hoarsely. 

Nothing seemed to be an appropriate reply to that and so Loki kept his silence, left the blanket in one corner of Leah's…of his cave, his great dirty hole in the ground, was it not? Here was where he hid from the world, until the world came to find him, so perhaps it would be best to leave a blanket, after all. He might need it again sometime.

The sun was high, close to noon, Loki guessed, and his stomach chose again to remind him that he'd missed the morning meal. Caught between a desire for food and one to be alone, Loki chose to sit on an outcropping of stone overlooking Broxton. His complaining belly could wait for a time. 

Only, whatever peace he'd hoped to find in the fine, sunny day was lost when the magpies began falling, burnt to embers before they even hit the ground. Ikol's predictions aside, Loki didn't need an oracle to tell him that birds erupting into flame were certainly a sign of something terrible coming. 

Any hopes of being alone were thoroughly dashed by the smell of charred magpie thick around them. With an dismal air, Loki sought out the All-Mother, even though he was quite sure that none of this was his fault. 

Mostly sure.

And besides, he could go by way of the kitchen.

* * *

His visit to the All-Mother had yielded little more than a stroll through memory lane and not one that Loki had desired to travel. If there was a relative that he had no need of recollection it would be named father, as neither of his seemed to make much of the word. His own memories of Odin were thankfully dim and he had none at all of Laufey. From what he'd heard, though, from Thor and others, his predecessor was more than welcome to keep any mental souvenirs his fathers had left to him. 

There was only one other in Asgard that Loki could turn to and it was with great reluctance he turned towards Thor's rooms. Likely he wasn't in them; Loki would gamble his reborn soul that Thor was in Broxton, battling the fires Loki had only seen from a distance. But when he returned the first place he would go would be his own rooms and that was where Loki would wait for him. 

His feet felt heavy as they retraced his path of the night before, though today he was unburdened by a heavy tray of food. His encumbrance was only his own thoughts, remembering the night before standing in front of this very door and Loki took a breath before he knocked, softly at first, then louder. "Thor," he called, "Brother, are you there?"

As expected, there was no reply. The handle yielded beneath his hand and the door opened on silent hinges, swinging inward to reveal a large bed piled high with furs and a low table with only a carafe of wine and glasses. There was little more to see, merely a room clean and barren of personality. A sharp contrast to his own rooms where books were piled high, his small sleeping mat surrounded by shelves of scrolls and tomes. 

Loki walked up to the bed and laid a gloved hand on the furs, considering. How strange it was, that he and Thor were so different; Thor with little but a bed in his rooms and Loki with barely room to sleep in his own, so overrun was his tower with his endless quest for knowledge. So different and yet Thor still cared for him so strongly and Loki…

He pulled back the bedcovers with a rough yank and leaned down, buried his face in the linens. They were freshly changed and smelled only of soap, no hint of his brother, who always smelled of good things, sometimes of his own honest sweat, perhaps a hint of ozone depending on his temper.

None of that was here and Loki straightened the covers again so that his intrusion would be unnoticed. 

"Do you pine for him?" Ikol asked and Loki startled. He hadn't heard the bird fly in. He sat now on the windowsill, preening his feathers and there was no slyness his question, only curiosity.

"No," Loki said and if he was lying, he did not know who to, "What was he like, Ikol?" The bird did not pretend to misunderstand.

"Rough," he said succinctly and Loki sighed.

"Would you care for a more detailed explanation?" Ikol asked him hoarsely, hopping lightly across the sill. "You’d prefer to know how he held me down, what it felt like for him to fuck his way into me? You'd like to know what trickery I would use to get him on his knees, what deceptions it required for him to allow me to take him--"

"Enough, enough!" Loki snarled. He flung himself down on the window seat and slouched into the cushions sullenly, wrapped his arms around his middle as he looked out at the smoke rising from Broxton. 

"You asked," Ikol reminded him. "Perhaps you should keep your questions to ones you truly wish to know the answer?"

"That's probably the best advice you've ever given me," Loki sighed out. "What have you to say about this?"

There was only a soft clatter of birdish feet against stone, the flutter of wings as Ikol leapt from one perch to another. 

"Ikol," Loki chided. He chewed on the tip of one finger, tasting the bitter leather of his glove.

"You must make your own mistakes."

" _Ikol._ "

"Do not pursue this," Ikol said, at last, "Enjoy your demon plaything, bed whomever you choose but do not with Thor. It can only end in tears and blood."

And perhaps there was much to say to that or perhaps nothing at all could be said, but at that moment the door banged open and Thor staggered in, hands red and scorched and Loki was caught up in wrapping up his injuries. Not something he was familiar with, were he to be honest. Asgardians were made of stern stuff and while he'd had his bruises, Loki had never had to treat a burn. 

Luckily, his Stark Phone was still a great provider of information and helped make short work of bandaging Thor's blistered, burned hands. 

So caught up was he with his task and with mentally sorting through the wealth of book knowledge he'd accumulated, trying to think of what sort of fire could burn a god, that he didn't notice the way Thor was looking at him. 

Not until Thor said to him, softly, "You came to my rooms last night."

"Hmm?" Loki said absently. He ignored the lurch of his own heartbeat and focused on keeping the bandages loose enough to not rub against the blisters as the internet had suggested. "Oh, I think not."

"No?" Thor's expression did not change, the blue of his eyes was steady as he regarded Loki. "It was not you who left a tray of food outside my door?"

"I was unaware that I was your steward as well as your physician," Loki said, sharper than he'd intended, and he took a deep, slow breath through his nose, steadying himself. This was exactly the sort of conversation he'd been hoping to avoid and they didn't even have the buffer of a meal between them. 

"It was not you I saw running away?" Thor said and that sealed Loki's fate, did it not? They were going to talk about this no matter what he wanted because Thor was a creature of honesty and goodness and cared not for Loki's desire to keep his private issues to himself. 

"Perhaps your wits are addled by your old age," Loki tried, tempering his words with a smile. He forced it to remain even as he met Thor's eyes and saw what was in them. 

"Loki," Thor sighed, so much meaning in that one exhale. He sat helplessly, sprawled across the low table and perhaps Loki was wrong. Perhaps there was nothing more to be said.

"You asked me to come speak to you," Loki reminded him and lowered his gaze again to his task. Each hand was wrapped in a loose bandage, dampened with antiseptic-laced water and there was little else Loki could do to help. Without thinking, he raised one bound hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss against the wrapped palm. Flicked his tongue against the clean fabric and tasted the sharpness of the antiseptic, bitterly medicinal.

Thor drew in a slow breath and let it out, did not protest as Loki repeated it, another soft kiss. He whispered into the damp fabric, "The Midgardians have a saying, I believe, something about a kiss it to make it better."

Thor's lips twitched into a smile, "I'm not convinced of its healing powers, though your mouth is cold."

"Then you see? I was made for such a task." Loki blew softly over his hand and he felt Thor's fingers twitch, then relax, for the breath of a frost giant, even a half one, was likely soothing. 

This was not the time, Loki knew. Birds were falling from the sky aflame and Broxton burned with a fire that could scorch even gods. This was not the time, it was _not_ , and Loki peeled the bandage away from his brother's forefinger and drew it into his mouth. Curled his tongue around the pad at the tip and felt the roughness of damaged skin, the terrible heat of the burn. It was reminiscent of Daimon, his hell-borne fueled heat and Loki breathed out a soft moan, laving his tongue against his brother's finger, careful of his teeth as he sucked it deeper.

"Loki," Thor said, low, and Loki held his hand tighter when his brother would have drawn it away. Tried to work his tongue the way he remembered Daimon had before in the alleyway and that was not this but neither of them could pretend they didn't know what Loki was playacting. What he was pretending. 

Loki let Thor's finger slide from between his lips, just a little, then drew it back in, and again. Working towards something like a rhythm. His mouth felt too-small and clumsy, his tongue going numb from the antiseptic and yet, Loki took him deeper, swallowing hard against the tickle at the roof of his mouth as Thor's flexed his finger, stroking lightly. The deep, rumbling sound that came from his brother was thrilling, sent a hot throb down between his own legs where his cock was already hard, its damp straining against his leggings only just hidden by the length of his tunic as he knelt. He wanted to hear more; there was power in that little sound, an exhilarating bit of control that he had over Thor, for once. 

"Loki," Thor repeated, warningly, his voice a hoarse rasp and Loki yielded, let Thor's finger fall from his mouth to trail wetly down his lips. Still holding that hand in both his own, Loki pressed another kiss into the palm, breathing coolly over the tormented skin he knew lay beneath the thin covering. He didn't look up as he rebandaged the single digit and only then did he meet the hot, relentless blue of Thor's eyes. 

Thor was still sprawled across the low table, his legs apart and if he wanted, if he dared, there was room for Loki to step between them. Plenty of room to press their bodies together, more than enough space for him to kneel, part the lacings of Thor's trousers and playacting was never going to be enough, not when his mouth watered for something more. Thor's flesh had been in his mouth and Loki craved another taste, wanted the weight on his tongue. 

Better, there was a bed close by and Loki could imagine Thor lifting him onto it, the softness of the furs against his bare skin. Thor would be heavy against him, a burden that Loki would relish and—

A well-bandaged hand against his cheek interrupted his fantasy and Loki blinked into a face awash with regret. Thor's hands were surely paining him and still he held Loki's face, leaned forward and though Loki took a sharp breath, he only pressed their foreheads together. 

"Little brother," Thor murmured, sorrowfully, and Loki needed to hear no more. 

"We need to—" Loki began, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the door, by shouts that the World Tree was aflame. 

Then there was no time for conversation, for a war had begun and by the time Loki saw the Engel fire and realized he was to blame, there was only time for confessions. And Thor was his brother, willing to be his hero yet again, and after Loki admitted all, Thor held him tightly and Loki thought of nothing but the comfort of his strong arms as he listened to his brother promise that all would be well. 

Too late.

Run, Thor had told him and Loki ran to the edge of the world and then he jumped.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone who had taken the time to read and comment! It's a tiny pairing in a small fandom, I know, but I'm thrilled that people are reading. Stick around, still more story to come!

* * *

Falling was very much like flying, only the ground approaching was a great deal more ominous. It would take so little time, mere minutes for him to hit the ground and he knew it. Minutes only but perhaps time flowed differently when one fell, for Loki felt as though he'd been falling for an eternity, chill wind pouring over him as he plummeted.

Loki thought perhaps he was actually bored, waiting for the ground to strike, for the pain he knew was coming. A fall from this height wasn't going to kill him, no, but he didn't need to imagine the spill of his own blood, the bones he was about to break. He'd be seeing it firsthand soon enough. Or perhaps these moments were just what his mind had been waiting for to tip over into proper insanity and wouldn't that just be the dark, bitter icing on his cake of doom? 

He felt it before he saw it, the first surge of warmth and opened his watering eyes to find smoky tendrils surrounded him, binding him and there was no time to register the whys and whats, only the faint hint of brimstone and Loki couldn't do magic but he recognized the pull of it. 

Falling slid sideways, gravity tipped on its head, and the pull of conjuring sent Loki colliding with another body hard enough to knock his breath away. The two of them went down in a tangle of limbs and Loki blindly tried to struggle away, straining to pull air back into his abused lungs. He managed to roll to the ground, rocks, sticks, whatever he was upon were digging into him painfully and after a few aborted attempts, he finally dragged in a breath, coughed it out and pulled in another. Asgardians were of tough stock, even adopted ones, but they did eventually need air. 

Large hands were on him, Loki realized, feeling his legs and arms roughly and Loki blearily realized he was being checked for broken bones. How quaint. 

"I'm fine," he batted them away weakly and was ignored. Understandably; his voice was a pathetic squeak, hoarse from coughing. He tried again, louder, "I'm fine!"

He was very, very far from fine but it was nothing that hands could find, nothing that a healer could treat. His arms and legs felt bloodless and numb but nothing was broken, no blood was spilled. Loki had not hit the ground, all his expectations for naught. 

Instead he'd been caught, limbs still hanging uselessly as he was scooped off the ground and held tightly, as tightly as Thor had held him in Leah's cave after he'd confessed all he'd done. Loki was shaking, he realized, tremors running through him and…no, the other man was shaking, hard enough that Loki could feel it, clutched as he was against the man's bare chest. Brimstone, yes, he remembered that. Daimon.

"Fuck, kid," Daimon let out an unsteady breath, his voice choked. "I was halfway across the country chasing down some sick-ass demon with a taste for little girls and suddenly the wards I put on you _screamed_ that you were in trouble. I come back and you were…Jesus, fuck, don't do that to me."

"I'm all right," Loki assured him and then squirmed free of his grip to stand and prove it to himself. He was mostly successful, listing briefly to one side, then the other, until he caught his balance and was on two feet again. "I---wards?" he frowned, "You put _wards_ on me?"

"Of course I put wards on you!" Daimon shouted. He dropped both hands on Loki's shoulders and shook him hard enough that his head wobbled on his neck like a dandelion in a windstorm. "You're Loki! You're like trouble incarnate! When you walk in Oklahoma, mischief probably sprouts up in China! Someone needs to keep tabs on you to make sure you aren't killing yourself and your brother is busy trying to protect the fucking universe!"

Daimon's eyes normally glowed, a faint, constant shine of the hellfire magic that raged within him; now they blazed, whatever anger he had spilling out of him in a wave of heat that included his hands, until Loki was wincing at the burn of it, trying to wriggle away as Daimon shouted on, "And it's a damn good thing I did! If I'd come back even a minute later, you would have—" he ground to a stop, closing his mouth so hard Loki heard the click of his teeth. 

"I wouldn't have died," Loki protested, squirming out of his grip and hopefully out of range of abuse. Why was it that when someone was trying to protect him they always managed to add a few bruises of their own?

"Yeah, well," Daimon blew out a hard breath. "Next time I'll let you splatter yourself across the countryside. Give me a call if you need help finding any internal organs, I'm great at finding spleens."

"You have a horrible sense of humor," Loki told him, looking around. They were in the ruins of old Asgard, the leftovers of yet another war. A visible testament to the damage that the Serpent had wrought and Loki had known that was where he was falling, he'd known he'd be here and had expected to be trying to crawl away and hide until his legs mended enough for him to walk. That he was here, unhurt and with Daimon, in the very place the two of them had met, struck him as a discord. It was not so terribly far from where he, the other Loki, had sacrificed himself. Suddenly, Loki felt faintly nauseous, the distraction of falling replaced by the knowledge of what was happening over their heads in Asgardia. 

Daimon was watching him, arms crossed over his chest, and he was blessedly silent. Or perhaps not so, the quiet made Loki hear nothing but the faint wind, the whistle of it through the collapsed ruins alongside the throb of his own heartbeat, loud in his ears, and Thor's last words to him, echoing through his overwrought mind. 

_Run._

"I need," Loki wet his lips. They felt sore, chapped, burned by the wind during his fall. He turned to Daimon and hoped that if he looked as pathetic as he felt, it would at least earn him another favor. "I need someplace to think."

Daimon glanced upward at Asgardia soaring above them, where he'd literally pulled Loki from the sky, before he nodded slowly. "I can do that."

He held out his hand and Loki hesitated but took it, let Daimon pull him through a circle of fire and into whatever lay on the other side.

* * *

Daimon did not live in his Hell, apparently, but in an old, crowded house in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. It was not quite traditional; there were books everywhere, lining dozens of bookshelves and scattered in messy piles on every available surface. Many of them had such interesting titles that any other time Loki would have dearly loved to spend a few hours poring over them and seeing what mischief they would reveal. 

Titles asides, the books were perhaps not that unusual. The rest of the décor was slightly more so; there were large pentagrams painted on several walls and one on the floor that nearly shimmered with power. Candles were scattered around in various stages of burnt and Loki was fairly sure that the bowl on the coffee table had human finger bones in it, which was an uncommon potpourri to be sure. Another table held a framed portrait of a pretty young woman, the glass clean and freshly dusted, bearing all the signs of something that Loki should not ask about. 

Still, sitting here on the overstuffed sofa, wrapped in a blanket, Loki felt safer than he had in some time. The blanket smelled like soap, clean and soothing and Loki buried his face into the soft folds, took what comfort he could from it. He'd discarded his headpiece the moment he'd sat down, another odd ornament on the coffee table to compliment the bones. Had pushed back his hood to let the sweaty mass of his hair free and now it was hanging over his eyes, defying all attempts to push it back. 

Daimon was in the kitchen and it wasn't a difficult guess to assume he was cooking something. The smell was appetizing enough that Loki's stomach growled, a reminder that he hadn't had a decent meal since their date at the golden arches. Were Loki a little more self-centered, he'd allow himself to bask in that memory, a simple meal and then afterward…well, that hadn't been simple at all, had it. 

Daimon walking back in with a tray interrupted his recollection and he handed it to Loki without a word. Tomato soup, Loki saw, and toasted cheese sandwiches and he ate both quickly, gratefully accepting the seconds that Daimon offered soundlessly. It was oddly domestic to be sitting here so. Daimon kept to his silence, trying, Loki guessed, to give him the promised time to think. The silence only made his thoughts try to wrap around each other worse, tangled together. Things had happened so quickly and his mind was awhirl, trying to settle on a course of action. Possibilities, so many of them and none of them seemed to be right.

Sitting on the other side of the sofa, Daimon was eating his own soup, his spoon scraping lightly against the ceramic of the bowl. In the midst of the nine worlds burning around them, there was this, the two of them sharing a simple meal, and there was Daimon, another loose end that Loki had no clear idea just where to tie. 

"I'm not using you to make Thor jealous," Loki said abruptly. His words seemed loud in the quiet of the room and it wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, not with the World Tree in flames, all his plans collapsing in on each other. If he could mend this, though, one tiny knot put to rights, perhaps he could figure out how to cut the Gordian one looming over him.

"Yeah, you are," Daimon took another bite of his sandwich and neatly wiped his mouth with a napkin. "It's okay. I don't mind that much."

"I'm not," Loki insisted and somehow, it was important that Daimon believe him, that he believed this. Trying to make Daimon believe he didn't want Thor was beyond his means; there was no way to twist that lie into something convincing. It didn't make his desire for Daimon any less so and his dreams had craved a burning touch he knew, had felt twice now.

Daimon sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. He'd been chasing a demon, Loki recalled, he'd been in the midst of his own work and he'd abandoned it the instant he realized Loki was in trouble, falling from Asgardia and preparing to shatter on the ground. "You need to get some rest, try lying to me when you're not exhausted, okay? It'll work better."

"I like you," Loki persisted, stubbornly, and Daimon looked at him finally, surprised. 

"Well, yeah, I never said you didn't," Daimon said slowly. "Look, it's all right, I told you. I don't mind. And I think you've got bigger things to worry about right now than hurting my feelings. Which you aren’t."

"I don't want to worry right now," Loki said, frustrated, "All I can _do_ is worry right now, I can't think, I can't stop turning things over and over in my head, like a puzzle box that I can't figure out, I can't—"

"Hey." The sofa creaked as Daimon moved, setting his bowl aside. Warm hands on Loki's face tipped his head up and the brush of Daimon's mouth against his own was tender. Lovely, yes, but not at all what Loki wanted. He surged upward, swallowing Daimon's startled sound as their teeth clicked, lips mashed together almost painfully. Loki shoved his hands into Daimon's hair and _pulled_ , dragging him down until he overbalanced, all arms and legs and heavy body and yes. Yes, more of that, much more. 

Parted his lips and his knees, and Daimon practically fell between them at the same moment Loki licked into his mouth, wanting to taste him. That familiar bitter ash flavor was becoming something like addictive and Daimon groaned, his thigh pushing tight up against Loki's crotch, shifting until they were pressed together. Even through their clothing, Loki could feel the press of Daimon's cock against his and he tore away from the kiss, biting his own lip as he struggled not to come right then. 

It only left his neck exposed, Daimon freeing a hand to yank clothing aside and his mouth was wetly hot against the bare skin and there was barely time to appreciate that when he _bit_ , hard enough to draw blood. Loki arched uselessly; he wouldn't be able to throw Daimon off of him without a creative use of ropes and pulleys, but he could cry out. He could _scream_ and he did, uncertain and uncaring if Daimon had any curious neighbors, the sound dissolving into a low whimper as Daimon licked the slight trickle of blood away, lips stained crimson as his eyes as he raised his head, eyes smoldering. 

"Make me stop thinking," Loki whispered and Daimon smiled, baring fangs tainted with Loki's blood. 

"I can do that."

It was, Loki reflected, still a very good thing to have a lover strong enough to pick you up. Even if it was only to yank him upright enough drag his tunic over his head, the undershirt tangled hopelessly into it. There was barely time to acclimate himself to that before Daimon had both hands on his leggings, yanking them down, baring him to both the air and Daimon's gaze. His boots were no barrier at all and he was naked in another moment. 

It was something he'd wanted and yet, Loki still struggled against the urge to cover himself, forced his arms to remain at his sides as Daimon looked him over, taking in his bareness. His eyes glowed appreciatively and that alone helped. He was hardly as attractive as Daimon himself was, young and slim, lightly muscled. Not like the other Asgardians, he never had been, and Daimon was, well, Daimon. Who was catching his face in both hot palms again, pressing another light kiss against his mouth. 

"You say stop anytime and I will," Daimon promised softly. 

"Why would I want you to stop," Loki countered. He shifted to slide his legs around Daimon's hips, dragging them down the backs of his legs. The smooth, cool leather felt glorious against his bare skin and Loki dropped his head back, eyes half-closed as he pushed his hips up invitingly.

Daimon gave him a sharp, quick grin, "Didn't say you would, but I wanted you to know the option is there." He stilled Loki with one hand in the middle of his chest, ignored his pouting protest as he moved down, licking beneath his own fingertips. Followed the fine line of hair trailing down from Loki's belly button to where his cock lay heavy on his belly, hot and hard, the wet tip leaking. 

"Oh," Loki whimpered, sliding his fingers into soft, red hair. Daimon had a wicked mouth, all slick, perfect heat and the very edge of teeth, scraping him enticingly, until Loki was writhing against the sofa cushions, begging both with and without words. The flat of his tongue pressed against the underside of his cock and Loki nearly came right then, hands clutching at Daimon's hair so hard he felt strands breaking. 

Not yet, not yet, he chanted mentally, struggling to keep from tipping over the edge. Not that Daimon was any help with that. He could feel Daimon inhaling through his nose, felt him make a soft, contented noise as he took him back in, swallowing against the head and the humming vibration of it made Loki jump, hissing sharply. By the Nine, he wanted to feel that again. 

Daimon pulled off him with a wet sound, looked up at him with damp, pink lips and a sultry smile, "Relax, kid, the stick you have up your ass is about to choke me."

"What-" Loki started, confused, only to cry out as Daimon lowered his head again and swept his tongue over the tip of his erection, wriggling his tongue obscenely beneath the foreskin. He tore his hands free of Daimon's hair and scrabbling instead at the cushions since surely if he pulled out a handful of hair Daimon would never forgive him and he would never, ever feel this again.

"Daimon," he whimpered, and his voice sounded foreign, pleading. He squealed embarrassingly loud when Daimon nipped him, hard enough to sting, before sucking him in again deeply, nearly to the base. 

He pulled off and Loki sobbed aloud. "Say that again," Daimon demanded. 

"I-I...please!"

Another bite and Loki let out a wordless shout, his thighs struggling to rise, to tighten around Daimon's head and stop that Gods-forsaken teasing. A useless struggle, Daimon only held him down, nuzzling at the softness of his balls, lapping with a determination, sucking first one, then the other, working Loki into a desperate, pleading knot of need. 

"My name," Daimon mumbled against him, "I wanna hear my name again." And when Loki only sobbed out another breath, his teeth grazed warningly. "C'mon, kid, I don't ask for much. _Say my name!_ "

"Daimon," Loki rasped, biting his own lips raw as Daimon rewarded him with a hard suck, swallowing him down to the root. "Daimon! Oh…oh…Daimon, please, you…please!"

A low, smooth chuckle vibrated over him and Loki would have screamed had he the breath. "That's perfect," Daimon whispered and pulled away.

"What—" Loki cried out, caught in a sudden rush of vertigo as Daimon abruptly flipped him over, pushing him across the arm of the sofa and Loki scrabbled to find something, anything, to brace himself against. There was nothing, only the incongruously flowered fabric of the sofa and there was no time for fear or uncertainty. He arched his hips up shamelessly, yes, he wanted this, wanted to feel this.

"Easy, kid," Daimon mumbled against his hip, his mouth burning hot. His tongue was slippery wet, slicking down the cleft of his ass, wait, wait, this wasn't--

"Ah!" Loki wailed. He didn't mean to try squirming away, Daimon's grip on his hips tightened, keeping him still as his tongue pushed into him again. A slippery, wicked thrust that he hadn't been expecting and it was gloriously wrong, nothing that he'd dreamed of wanting. 

Again, and again, Daimon lapping at him, working his mouth back and forth, circling the little hole, pressing inside just a little and Loki could only sag over the arm of the sofa, blood rushing to his head as he hung there weakly. Thumbs dug into the cheeks of his ass, parting them, and Daimon swiped a long, hot lick up the cleft, wetting him thoroughly.

Now, then, it had to be now. Loki felt hard as stone, grinding against the arm of the sofa desperately. He needed it to be now and he moaned aloud to hear a zipper opening. The sofa creaked as Daimon shifted and Loki couldn't see, but he could imagine. Imagine those dark pants sliding down, imagine Daimon's nakedness. He hadn't seen it and that suddenly mattered not at all, not when he was about to have it inside him where he needed it, so, so much. 

Yes, yes, now, "Yes," he whimpered, trying to arch his hips, trying to show, wordlessly, how much he wanted it. Uncaring how he must look, as whorish as Thor had accused, he didn't care, _didn't care_ , choking out rusty moans, managing a single, thin word, "Daimon!"

The abrupt feel of Daimon's cock against him was glorious, hard, so hot, sliding in the slippery cleft of his ass, moving against him. But not inside him, it wasn't enough, and Loki choked out a protesting cry, trying to angle his hips, to help, and Daimon only stilled him with two hands, one on his hip and the other sliding beneath him, circling his own neglected erection. 

It was too much, he'd been on the edge for too long and in the end Loki threw his head back and spilled, wet spurts over the circle of Daimon's fist around him. The hand on his hip slid upward, over the slick stripes of come on his belly to pull him up enough for Daimon to mouth soft, sweet bites into his neck as he rocked against Loki's ass, driving against him in tight, convulsive little thrusts until he bit down hard and came with a groan, shoving Loki into the arm of the sofa as warm wetness spread over the small of his back, dripped downward. 

He fell back into Daimon's arms with a light tug, sprawling over him stickily, followed the push and pull of his hands until they were arranged together comfortably. Loki drowsed against Daimon's bare chest as hot hands moved over him lazily, stroking his back, the bare swell of his bottom, fingertips moving softly over his damp thighs. 

"Why didn't you?" Loki mumbled, his face half-buried in Daimon's chest. The raised pentagram there was surprisingly soft. "I wanted you to." 

He didn't bother explaining what; words weren't coming easily at the moment and Daimon was no fool.

Daimon's sigh proved it and there was soft kiss at his temple, stirring the fine hair there. A thumb dipped into the small of Loki's back, tracing symbols that he didn't recognize. "I was never a good thief. I don't like to take what isn't mine."

Loki frowned, sleepily, "I was giving it to you."

"I didn't mean you," Daimon whispered. He followed it with another kiss, the gentlest press of tongue as he licked at the drying sweat there. "Let's not compound insanity with stupidity."

There wasn't time to try and parse that; Daimon's plan to help him stop thinking had worked entirely too well and Loki drifted off to sleep, carried along by gentle touches and soft kisses.

* * *

When he woke, the light pouring through the windows had gone reddish. Beneath his ear, Loki could hear the slow, even pound of a heartbeat and as carefully as he could, he drew away. Daimon didn't stir, hands releasing Loki easily and drifting down to rest on his own stomach. For a long moment, Loki stood by the sofa and looked down at him, at the nakedness he hadn't had a chance to see before. 

Daimon didn't seem bothered by the chill air; his eyelashes, as red as his hair, were still against his cheeks. There was a hint of stubble on his jaw, the first Loki had seen on him, his lips parted as he drew in slow breaths. Lower, the pentagram on his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale, and lower still, down the flat plain of his belly to the softness of his cock, resting quiescent against the patch of darker red hair between his legs. Loki looked down further, taking it all in, the hard strength of his thighs, his calves, to the bareness of his feet. All bare skin and power and Loki drank in the sight of it. 

Then he silently gathered up his clothes, carried them into the next room before he dressed with quick efficiency. He'd had his time to think. He knew what he needed to do. There was hardly time for it and yet, Loki couldn't resist looking back into the other room. Daimon hadn't stirred, sleeping peacefully, and Loki couldn't help but note the faint darkness beneath his eyes, the lines of exhaustion. Something drove Daimon to his work, something past the story about his father he'd glibly given Loki and Leah when they'd first met, but there was no time for curiosity about Daimon's personal demons. 

Right now, Loki needed to save all the worlds. 

Outside, the sun had finally set and Loki slipped out through the front door he hadn't used before, into cold, fresh air. He took in a deep breath, another, and started walking. Hardly a moment had passed when he heard the flutter of wings, Ikol settling on his shoulder. 

"Ikol, can I break the wards he put on me?" Loki asked. He kept his eyes forward; there would be no looking back again. 

"Yes, but it would take time," Ikol said.

"I don't have time. They'll have to stay. We need to get to Niffleheim," Loki told him and Ikol pecked lightly against the side of his head in acknowledgment. 

"Then let's go."

* * *


End file.
